


Welcome you home

by sour_apples



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, But it takes a while, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, catra pines a lot but the catradora interactions will come much later on so im sorry bout that, catra processes her trauma and gets the help she needs, corruption has some serious health issues as it turns out, edit: glimbow now too bc im weak for them :L, flashbacks of childhood abuse both physical and emotional, george and lance casually the most in love all the time, i might come back to this but dont get your hopes up, ill add the warnings of each chapter in the tags though, lance goes into dad mode (tm), obviously, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sour_apples/pseuds/sour_apples
Summary: Lance wasn’t going to let another child fall through the cruel hands of Hordak, not like before.--------The historians in the woods don't expect to find a battered girl along the outskirts of their home, but they do. Even if one of them knows who she really is, it's not in their nature to let someone suffer on their own, not when it'd be so easy to bridge that gap and be the hand to help. So really, what other option could they take? Catra didn't have to dig herself deeper, not when she has a place she belongs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for general warnings, i talk about a pretty nasty scar + head pain.  
other thoughts? this is my first attempt at making a long running fic, and I'm not the best with stretching out my writing or scheudling very well so I'm nervous, but I hope you guys enjoy this nonetheless! Junior year of high-school has just started, so I'm going to be busy, but I'll stay on top of it! This is my passion project afterall ^^

Realistically, Catra’s world should have come to an end when she pulled the lever. That was when everything fell apart, when she was split and corrupted between herself and the unknown that had seemed familiar. When she turned into the nothing of another reality. Catra remembers that, that life in the back of her head like a recent dream. But that dream was not what happened. Adora got involved, everyone became themselves again, and Catra’s livelihood sputtered out and died on a much more anticlimactic note. 

Instead of through the duration of the literal apocalypse, Catra lost everything in the short moments after. It was when everyone came to, reanimated in the bodies that felt like they’d been last used lifetimes ago. And when Catra turned away from the broken portal, she only saw where Adora had stood was She-Ra, her eyes of ice glaring through Catra’s skull. The look was enough to get the message across. She didn’t see anything worth fighting for anymore. Not with Catra. 

That, on top of Shadow Weaver clinging to the princesses like a lifeline and the searing ghost pains that struck through her bones where her corrupted body boiled like a glitch, was all enough to kill her right then and there. It might have even been the case, if Catra had been the type to curl into a ball and die. But no,it wasn’t that easy. Somewhere sadistic in the back of her suicidal meltdown brain said she had to survive, if only to spite every single person on Etheria who wanted her dead(which is  _ everyone _ ). Getting as far as she did alive was somewhat her specialty. 

So, just like after the Battle of Bright Moon, Catra retreated with the dignity she had left. This time though it was much less likely she had any dignity to spare. She just ran. Ran in the direction she knew she was supposed to run in, but she didn’t stop once she was back in ‘safety’. She didn’t stop running after they were far away from Hordak’s lab, and not after the princesses were gone. Not after Hordak had stopped running. Not even after she ran past the Fright-Zone, into the waste that lay beyond it.

And really, it wasn’t about stopping in the first place or really arriving at any destination. It was about going until she couldn’t go any longer. Until nothing could chase her and drag her down screaming. In a way the goal was to run until any and all thoughts could be thrown to the wayside. No more thoughts of Shadow Weaver or Adora or Hordak to take residence in her head if she focused on the wearing down of her body and her senses. In that manner, it was easy. She had enough physical and emotional pain to focus on forever, if the never-ending throbbing of her head indicated anything. 

Catra ran for as long as her burning legs could take her, which was considerably longer than average(even with the hurt that weighed her down like chains)given the inherit agility and speed of her species. Not that Catra could even be grateful for that, because it only got her so far until she sprained her ankle. One of her feet caught under a thick vine and she toppled over before she even knew what was happening. The ground greeted her about as kindly as a punch to her face, and Catra was done for.

And that’s how she ended up, ironically, in the middle of the Whispering Woods. If she had been paying attention to her surroundings she would have easily caught her own mistake, but it was hard to see past the fog that built up in her head and in her eyes. But no, that’s exactly where she was, Catra realized, as her body practically collapsed. When she had hit the ground she hit it hard enough to knock the wind out of her, but her nerves were already so frayed that the feeling was nothing but a background sensation. The vine that had tripped her led into smattering of foliage. Rolling over onto the patch of shrubbery she had fallen into, her attempts to push herself off the ground where weak. Too weak. Catra had no energy left in her to even sit up. The air in her lungs was thin, and those of Catra’s regularly heightened senses fizzled out quickly. Corruption had gotten to her much more than she realized. What the fuck was that, anyway? She’s worried about her mundane ass headache, when she’s in the accursed Whispering Woods that could possibly swallow her whole.

It should have been much scarier. Stories about these woods (of course, being the ones Adora had relayed to her) and all of the undead and misfortune beings that lurked to capture Horde soldiers spread around the Fright Zone quick, and Catra was usually in her right mind enough as a kid to believe them. But it didn’t matter, at least not now. If there were any undead, then Catra didn’t have any reason to care at the moment. All she was able to do was lay exhausted on the ground and look beyond the clouds in the sky. It would serve the undead good to kill her. Everything that had mattered had gone anyways, and it was all her own fault. 

Hers. She feels herself grimace. It’s the truth. And for the most part, Catra didn’t think she had it in her to start blaming everyone else again. She was the one who pulled the switch. She knows that. Knowing doesn’t make it easier to accept. Accepting things isn’t really her department. 

If she had accepted things, everything would have been just fucking peachy. Maybe she would have stayed in the Crimson Waste with Scorpia and led her own life, even get Entrapta away from Hordak. Maybe she would’ve been able to stay Hordak’s favorite and keep her position as a Force Captain and never have to even think of thinking of Shadow Weaver. Hell, maybe she would have gone with Adora to the rebellion, joining the perky little clique of uptight princesses who were selfish enough to take her only friend. Maybe Catra wouldn’t be lying in the middle of enemy territory, nearly unconscious with her head trying to split itself in half.

God. Her head  _ throbbed _ . It felt like everything around her was working to agitate her searing brain with over-stimulation. Catra shimmied a little further under the dense leaves and vines in an attempt to hide from the blaring light of the sky, but it didn’t matter. The ache of the corruption seemed to coarse through Catra on it’s own terms, and it wasn’t going to be ignored. She doubted she could even walk like this if she tried again. That might have been for the better. Right now, she was decently undercover. Far enough away from the palace of Bright Moon for no one to find her, at least. She couldn’t really worry about that now. It would only drive her into a further panicked state than she already dug herself in, and she didn’t need that. Really, it was a problem for future Catra. 

Present Catra was already fucked as it was. Her eyes kept threatening to flutter closed, and that would put her in a vulnerable spot. But, she was safe here. And the threat of sleep seemed more and more inviting the more the thought on it. If she just gave herself over to it, or over to  _ sleep _ , her head could stop. Perhaps the pain would even clear up a little once she got some actual rest.

Yeah. That was a good idea. Forcing her thoughts to stop latching onto recent events, she willed her mind to go static with thinly veiled calm. Even though sleep wasn’t going to come easy (it never did), the promise of a bearable migraine outweighed any restlessness or anxiety she could conjure.

She just hoped she wouldn’t dream. Her subconscious was never kind to her when the REM stage of sleep came along, and she doubted that after the portal, it ever would be. But it didn’t matter, she just needed rest. So if her head wanted to guilt-trip her through the images it flashed to her when she had no choice but to watch, she could pretend to not remember them when she woke up. If she woke up, Catra thought dryly. That was the last concrete trail of thought Catra had before her exhaustion finally weighed in on her, and the tension coiled in her throat and shoulders began to seep out in response. 

By the time she was finally drifting into the realm of deep sleep, her ears were no longer perceptive to pick up on the soft patter of footsteps that progressively got closer and closer and quicker and quicker, until they stopped right in front of her. 

.....

Lance was never the model to turn to when practicing patience. Really, he wasn’t. Most days he couldn’t even wait to wake up and start the day, and he would shoot up out of bed at nearly four in the morning. Not that he’d admit it, but he’d purposely run around the house hoping to make just enough noise to gently wake the kids and husband(much to the latter’s annoyance.)

That’s why George was  _ normally  _ the one who went out to find, pick, and prepare mushrooms for their date-night picnics, but tonight Lance’s husband was busy in his study. George was intent on figuring out what had induced that mass hallucination from yesterday. It had been so vivid, but Lance remembered it well enough to know something about it wasn’t right. It was exactly the kind of thing George was never able to ignore and he was sure that it had something to do with She-Ra. And of course, if it put Bow or his friends in danger, researching the issue was George’s top priority which left him all cooped up in his study. 

That left  _ Lance  _ to do most of the busy-work. He didn’t mind. He respected George’s curiosity and brilliant mind so he had expected this(and he expected that date night in question might be delayed a day if George was really concerned) and was glad to have some time to himself. But it didn’t make the task of mushroom-picking any less boring. Going from grove to grove of vines and leaves wasn’t the most exciting task for the brain, and Lance was the sort of type to seek stimulation at every turn. 

Making another round about the house, Lance wasn’t that successful with his mushroom-finding. He’d only found a little grouping growing at the base of a tree right next to a poison ivy bush, and if that wasn’t promising enough there also happened to be mold growing along the tops. Instead of giving up though he decided to go a little further around the outskirts of the area to see if there was anything ripe for the taking. 

And Ahoy! There he found exactly what he was looking for. The grass he tread on followed a path right next to a smattering of ferns, trees, and bushes. The foliage here was dense enough to hide behind, and he thought this would have been a perfect spot to take his sons hide and seek when they were smaller and more appreciative of versatile and simple games. in between these were the fungi he was looking for! Humming to himself in satisfaction, Lance got to work. The groupings of mushrooms seemed to line up neatly along the path, and it reminded Lance of the fairy circles he read about. 

His basket was nearly full, and Lance was just considering only taking one more handful before his eyes fell to the next bit of path in front of him. Where there were mushrooms, a hand laid sprawled out from behind a bush, claws turned upwards and hauntingly still.  _ Gods _ .

Lance’s mushroom basket was forgotten on the ground beside him as he nearly fell over his own feet trying to scamper up to the scene. It didn’t take long to peel back the foliage around the arm to find the person it was attached too underneath. It was a girl, eyes scrunched closed and still unmoving. His instincts guided him into pulling her out from underneath the flora as soon as possible, and his heart nearly broke at how limp she felt in his hands. 

Once she was out in the open and lying on the ground, Lance hesitated. Of course he wanted to help, but in the back of his mind he recalled the lesson George relayed to their children about asking before touching. Obviously it was a silly line of thought, since if she needed physical aid and care the consent aspect was assumed to be all green-light and go, but it still slowed Lance down. Shoveling his nerves into his throat, he watched her chest rise up and down. Still breathing, good.    
Turning her over to check the pulse in her wrist, Lance’s breath hitched. She looked so  _ tired _ . And looking at the headpiece that adorned her forehead, Lance realized something. It was cracked, just a little down the middle. From what Lance could assume she must have broken it on whatever fall she had taken. Gently putting it aside, he filed the object away in the back of his mind so as to remember to give it back to her when she woke up. Again he made to check her pulse, and although it was weak(which probably explained why she was unconscious)it was  _ there _ . His hands searched over her body carefully, placed only to see if she faced any more damage. She had a fever, but that was a quick fix when it came to George and his healing chicken noodle soup. There wasn’t any more damage, or at least, outwardly, it didn’t look like it. The only concern Lance found was her forehead.

Where he had removed her headpiece, a small line of red seeped down from behind the girl’s bangs. This became the immediate concern, the point of focus.Taking one of the spare, multi-color hair ties that always adorned his wrist, Lance used them to push her bangs back to inspect the problem at hand. 

He hadn’t meant to gasp, but it escaped him nonetheless. 

It wasn’t the area that had been cut when the headpiece was broken, no. That wasn’t what made Lance cringe. A simple band aid after alcohol wipes would be enough, no scar left behind once it properly healed. But this? This was nearly hidden, tucked away by the girl’s temple where Lance had nearly missed it, and never would have seen it had he not looked. This was a bright, angry mix of brown and red. A marking that looked like branding. Describing it as branding was somewhat an injustice, because this wasn’t a burn. Instead it looked like fingers had been dug into the side of her head, claws intent on making the message it set out to make. The torn flesh there wasn’t the dull color a healed scar held, it clearly had gotten infected and had been reopened several times too much for that to be the case.

And, there was the shape. The shape was unmistakable. Two near identical figures placed symmetrically and with painful precision. Wings. Lance recognized the symbol. 

She was ex-horde.

This realization didn’t phase him as much as Lance thought it would. He already experienced his son becoming a soldier and realizing one of said son’s best friends was the She-Ra he had been studying for years. So in a backwards way it made sense, but this didn’t. Those kids were his family and his allies and this stranger in front of him ...wasn't. She came from another side, from the Horde that he’d seen do damage to his surroundings, his family, his husband. But, she wasn’t in the Horde, she was here. And in pain. Did the Horde chase her out, threaten or banish her? Is that how she ended up here, on the ground so clearly exhausted? Running from the only home she probably had. Poor thing, she was just a kid. The dear didn’t even look a day older than Bow. 

Well, she was going to have a home now. Lance wasn’t going to let another child fall through the cruel hands of Hordak, not like before. 

Rising to his feet and dusting his pants off, it was decided. Putting the girl’s headpiece into the mushroom basket, he slung it around his arm. Reaching down, he lifted her up into his arms, and began heading home.

George had probably taken a break to make dinner by now. Maybe he can convince him to make his chicken-noodle-soup.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t have a choice. I have nowhere to go.”   
“Nonsense,” Lance huffed, although he shot an inquisitive look at George before he spoke up again. “You have here.”  
“I,” Catra’s words caught in her throat but she dragged them out into the air to lay bare in front of Lance and George. “I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things before we jump straight into chapter 2! this was a lot longer than the first chapter, and i'm planning on continuing in that direction so stay with me folks. I think i'm going to post every once a week where I get the time, but i make no promises.   
Tws: vomiting, small mention of homophobia, flashbacks, and neglect/abuse in the italic sections, although catra also goes through a panic attack towards the end of this chapter.   
Alright! onto the chapter

Coffee always seemed better when it sat on the windowsill to cool down for a little bit in the mornings. Add in two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk and  _ that _ was coffee at its peak. At least, that’s what George assumed. That’s not the sort of coffee he was drinking now. The beverage in his cup, as he stood next to the love of his life who held a passed out magikat girl softly in his arms, was two days old, cold, and completely black. 

“Lance.” The word didn’t come out right, sounding like they had gone through a cheese grater. “What do you have there?”

“Uh. The mushrooms.” He gestured as best as he could to the basket slung over his arms. George spent two seconds regarding it before his eyes dragged themselves back to the girl. “Is she alright?”   
“I,” Lance paused, took a deep breath. He rocked on the balls of his feet before exhaling back out. “As good as someone passed out on the forest floor can be.” 

“Get her on Ty’s old bed,” Before he even knew what he was doing or where he was going, George was headed for the first aid kit. “Did you check for bruising around the head?”   
Lance followed him through the house, footsteps heavy before he swirled into one of the doorways. “What, why?”   
“She might have a concussion.”    
“Oh, oh right. I’m sorry-” His voice was a little muffled by the wall, but Lance over-enunciated everything so it was perfectly understandable even as George was three doors down. Walking back to Ty’s old bedroom, George peered in to see Lance hovering a little ways aside the bed he had laid the girl down in. With two strides, George was close enough to clasp a hand over his husband’s shoulder.   
“There’s no need to apologize love, let’s just make sure she gets taken care of.”

“Well, then we’re in luck! I got a once over on her when I found her, and it looks like she doesn’t have any internal wounds or injuries at all. I just think she might have passed out. Heat stroke, maybe?”

“I don’t think so, not with the recent weather. It might have something to do with that hallucination from earlier, right?” It was a weak guess in George’s eyes, but entertaining the thought seemed to loosen the tension in Lance’s shoulders by a little fraction. A little fraction was worth it. Especially because seeing Lance stressed over anything was such a rare thing, that it often made George sympathy stress in situations he otherwise wouldn’t. But he knew why Lance was freaked out. It wasn’t like George went unaware of how incredibly empathetic his love was, his weak spot for helping other people always came around in even the smallest of situations. 

Well, it also wasn’t a completely bullshit guess. When he had woken up from that trance, George had felt so weak that he had fallen straight onto the coffee-table, and Lance had slumped to his knees out of tiredness. The same thing could have happened with this stranger they were now housing, although her case would have to be particularly interesting if she had been so affected to have passed out in the middle of the woods of all places. 

George peered down for the first time in a while down at the girl lying asleep, eyes curious. He decided to finally take a good look, just to see what the cat had so literally brought in. 

Her frame was wiry, and her wild mane was thick with a layer of dirt she must have accumulated from her time on the ground outside. That, and her bangs swept down to obscure almost her entire face, but George could make out a smattering of freckles, her feline ears, and a fang that just barely jutted out from under her neath. She was young, not even older than his youngest, Bow. That warranted a rather unpleasant feeling that sat at the pit of his stomach. Where on earth were her parents? 

“Where was she?” 

“Out by the clearing just a little aways from us. Right in front of the mushrooms I had been looking for, actually.” George swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Do you think….she was being chased?”    
Lance stiffened instantly, and it was more than noticeable.

“....Lance? Darling, what’s wrong?” He lifted his palm from behind the small of Lance’s back, up to cup his cheek instead and softly guided Lance’s gaze to his own. “Was there something that happened?” 

“No, no, I’m just a little unnerved!” He jumped in too quickly, the pitch of his voice a little higher than normal. He seemed to catch on to that as well though, so he steadied his words for the next sentence. “I don’t like thinking about kids walking alone in the woods is all. That’s why this sort of thing happens in the first place, doesn’t it?” 

“I mean, I suppose. But ...are you sure? You looked so scared for a moment that I was sure that there ha-, wait. Was it the Horde?” Lance’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open just a fraction, but it was enough to jumpstart George’s entire heart. Taking one step closer, he spoke barely above a whisper. “Did one of their quadrants ambush you? Are they near the house, or, did they retreat as soon as you spotted them? We should get in contact with the princesses, my god. Oh, I swear if they even laid a single FINGER on you or that innocent girl then I’-,”   
“George, George, no! That’s not it,” Now it was Lance’s turn to hold onto his husband, gripping the shorter man’s shoulders so he was fixed in one firm spot. “Don’t let your head run off before I can explain. Nothing like that happened, I’m just worried.” 

“Alright.” George wasn’t completely sold because Lance was still being oddly reserved, but he wasn’t going to press if it was going to turn into a fight or an issue. “Well you don’t have to be, you have me here with you to help.” 

“Right, yes,” Lance rolled his eyes playfully and leaned in to press a kiss to George’s forehead. All he could do in response was give a happy sigh, and look up at Lance with one of those reserved smiles he only kept for his loved ones. “What would I do without you?”

“Funny, I find myself asking the same thing,” Lance giggled at that, and the other man felt himself flush with a smile. He really had no right to be so cute, George would have thought, if he hadn’t been stirred out of his thoughts when he heard shuffling coming from the bed. 

…….

_ The space between the walls and the ceiling of the room was damn near claustrophobic, suffocating at best. Catra couldn’t even back up without her bare arms jabbing the frost-covered surfaces of coolers and supplies. It was so dark in the space that even Catra, with all her nightvision, had trouble making out the objects around her. In her thirteen year old brain, she couldn’t help but see the slumped over tower of ice-packs as a giant figure, always just out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her to let her guard down. If she was being honest with herself, her shaking wasn’t just from the cold. _ _   
_ _ “Please!” Catra screamed once more, fists banging over and over on a door made out of steel. When her skin hit the surface, it was like it swallowed the sound whole and each bang only made that more apparent. She could try opening it again, but that hope would be crushed yet another time when she realized it was still just as locked as the last time. “I promise I won’t do it again! I’ll do whatever you want forever, just let me out of here! Please, please!”  _

_ Of course, those words fell on deaf ears. Catra knew Shadow Weaver wouldn’t budge until she thought Catra had her fair share of punishment, and she doubted that woman had even stuck around to hear her pleas. If she did, she must have taken pleasure in hearing Catra so vulnerable and scared. It was right up her alley, making Catra suffer alone without anyone to even humor her with a response.  _

_ It wasn’t even likely anyone could hear her down here, tucked in one of the farthest corners of the Fright Zone. Catra had tried everything. Yelled until her throat gave out. Scratched the walls until her nails broke and began to bleed. Kicked and punched at the ceiling just to make noise. She even went through all of the supplies in the tiny storage unit in case there was a hidden doorway or vent to crawl out of, ultimately finding nothing. But no one had come down to find her. She was left alone, to suffer something that was out of her control. _

_ It hadn’t even been her fault, her head shouted, as she slumped to the ground. Her rear protested being sat down in the cold, but standing was becoming more exhausting by the second and that outweighed any other discomfort. _

_ And truly, it really hadn’t been her fault.  _ Adora _ was the one who had gotten really excited, and kissed Catra on the cheek in public. Pecked her even when they both said it was only ok when no one was looking, because Shadow Weaver didn’t like girls touching the other girls. It hadn’t been the other way around. One, because Catra got too flustered to ever even pull a stunt like that, and two, because she knew if they were found out it would end up like this. But it was all the same in Shadow Weaver’s eyes. Even if Catra wasn’t involved, she was the one who somehow had schemed “all along” for this to happen. The root of the problem. The evil child. A mastermind at being the worst. It was almost a compliment that Shadow Weaver thought she was able to pull off being an inconvenience in every single way possible, but it wasn’t fair. Adora never got blamed. Shadow Weaver would never put her sweet Adora in a situation like this, even if she had killed someone and straight up showed her the evidence and flat out admitted her deed. So that’s why Catra was here, instead.  _

_ Alone, cold, and on the verge of crying. Nearly everything was hurting. It was like she was being ripped apart so that Jack Frost could come in and run his hands over her insides. It hadn’t even taken that long for it to overwhelm her to the point of tears, which Catra hated to admit. Not that she knew how much time had gone by. She just knew that it had felt like an entire day had passed, a day where she cycled through nearly every single type of discomfort that the Horde had to offer. By this point, she had gotten so used to the cold biting at her everywhere that she was numb to her own shaking. Her body probably wouldn’t even process being stabbed in this state. Maybe that would be for the better, she thought dryly. Dying a little bit more quickly in here, just to get the process over with. _

_ “Catra?” A voice called out, from beyond the four walls. Instantly, her ears perked up. She could recognize that voice anywhere. “Catra, where are you? Please come back out, I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t think anyone was gonna see.” Catra heard sniffling, and when her brain caught on as to why, her heart  _ ached _ . _

_ “Adora! Is that you?” She shot up, pressing herself to the door so she didn’t have to strain her ears trying to hear her. “Adora! Adora, I’m here, I’m here. Help me!” _ _   
_ _ “Catra, oh my god Catra, what are you doing in there?” Footsteps from the other side sprung into action, and suddenly there was a tugging sound from the outside. “W...what? Did you lock yourself in here?” Catra could tell just by her tone that Adora knew that wasn’t the case, but she wasn’t going to comment. Couldn’t comment. She just needed to get out of there, before she passed out. _

_ “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you help, okay? And- and I’m not gonna leave you,” Adora assured her, although she spent a while sitting there just pulling at the door and trying to pry it open with her bare hands. Like that was going to accomplish anything. _

_ “Adora, it’s locked, you need the passcode to open it.” _

_ “Oh,” She replied softly. _

_ “See the little keypad right next to the door? That’s where you’d put it in.” _ _   
_ _ “W-well, what is it? The pin, I mean.” _

_ “Oh, well, I really don’t know. It would be great if I did though, right? Why don’t you just go along ask Shadow Weaver? I’m sure she’d just love that.” Catra barked, her nerves running thin. Even though she knew her best friend was just trying to help, bitterness still coated her actions in a thick blanket.  _

_ “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Adora practically screamed back, and before Catra could make another snippy remark Adora’s attention was already elsewhere. Again Adora banged at the door, but this time she yelled her head off. _

_ “Help! Anybody, please! Cadet in trouble! Help, Help-,” She inhaled a deep breath, “Catra, I’d ask you to join in but please just sit tight and reserve your energy, or you might hurt yourself.” (Too late. Catra looked down at the sight that was her nails and winced.) “I swear, I’ll get you out of here.”  _ _   
_ _ She almost had the heart to reply, but Adora went right back to crying old yeller. Catra might have been thankful for that chance to take a break since her throat was still so sore, but trying to put her thoughts into words took too much effort in that moment. _

_ This went on for what Catra guessed was around twelve minutes: Adora crying out while Catra sat and listened while she caught her breath. And then, just as abruptly as Adora’s hands had started to pound down onto the steel, the noise cut off into dead-silence in a matter of seconds.  _

_ “Adora?” Catra squeaked out. Nothing. “Adora? Are you still there? What happened?” Again, nothing. She tried a couple more times but every call was met with radio silence. Once again, she realized with a small twitch, Catra was alone.  _

_ Why? Because Adora left her. She said she wouldn’t, but she did. The panic attack that had sat at the back of her throat patiently while she and Adora where trying to handle the situation came up and rose through her body like vomit, new worries cramming themselves into Catra’s brain on top of the ones that were driving her near to the point of fainting. Wait, no. That was actual vomit. _

_ Catra threw up. Her body went through the motions, but fuck is Catra was present enough to realize that she was even throwing up. If she could see, her vision would be swimming as her eyes focused on nothing and everything at once. She threw up until there was nothing left in her system, until she was to the point of dry heaving. In the back of her mind, some part of herself had enough sense to worry, would she start coughing up blood soon? The thought only worsened the feeling of nausea that clung onto her throat and wormed it’s way into her stomach. Would that be normal? _

_ That wall all she could process before seconds later, the keypad outside came to life with little clicks, and the door slid open. On it’s faulty hinges, it creaked in a high-pitched way that sounded much like the wail of a toddler. It grated against Catra’s ears. The light that cut into the freezer was near blinding to Catra’s sensitive eyes, and she practically forced her eyelids shut, otherwise her retinas would burn. It was only when she felt a shadow move over her that she could pry them open again. In the doorframe, Shadow Weaver towered above her. Framed by the lighting, she almost looked like she could have been an angel. But if was the farthest thing from the truth. If Shadow Weaver was ever an angel, Catra could say from experience she was a fallen one.  _

_ “Insolent child, look at what you’ve done, even in solitary confinement, you find a way to ruin things for others!”  _

_ Catra doesn’t so much as feel herself get torn from the freezer so much as she senses it, head hurting in too many places to get a grip on what she was seeing or hearing. The one thing she  _ can _ focus on is the claws Shadow Weaver has wrapped around her arm, digging in so tight that it could draw blood. “What am I going to tell those poor janitors who clean up after your mess? That you couldn’t handle the punishment you deserve? Absolutely unacceptable. Go to the bathroom, clean yourself up, then wait in your room until I tell you that you can come out. Do not even think about leaving, or you will earn yourself even more time locked away.”  _

_ Catra had no other choice but to obey.  _

_ As it turns out, Shadow Weaver didn’t come back to the dorms to grant her permission to leave at any point in time. Catra figured as much would happen. It still sucked as is though, because this way Catra has no way of seeing Adora to check on her. She could chance it and sneak through the vents to go find her, but the threat of being thrown away to freeze again, when Catra couldn’t even turn her head without feeling another surge of cold ache, kept her where she was. The fact that all of the showers had run out of hot water only added onto Catra’s discomfort. She would stay uncomfortable for the rest of the day, the rest of the day only being an hour or so before everyone came back into the dorms. _

_ As all of her team-mates shuffled in after getting ready for bed, Catra combed her eyes over the entire lot. No Adora. That in and of itself kept Catra from falling asleep when the cadets around her gave themselves over to the dream realm. Adora was never late to bed. Even when she and Catra went the entire day without seeing each other, they always met up exactly on time for bed so that they could fall asleep together. The air around her, still as it was, became just as suffocating as the freezer. Something had happened and Catra had been powerless to stopping it.  _

_ When a familiar, blonde-haired, blue-eyed face finally made her way back through the doorway, there was a spring in her step that absolutely shouldn’t have been there after recent events.  _

_ “Adora!” Catra leapt at her, practically forcing herself into Adora’s arms. The other girl didn’t protest, just adjusted so that she could hold her a bit more comfortably as they stood in front of the dorm. “There you are! Are you okay? You were gone for hours!” _

_ “Of course, dummy. I’m always okay. Are you?” She pulled back a little bit, placing both of her hands on Catra’s shoulders as she gave her a once-over. Catra just snorted, and laughed something wicked. Adora really could have a dry sense of humor sometimes, couldn’t she? _

_ “Huh? What’s wrong?” Adora cocked her head, eyes shifting into something concerned. She lifted her palm to Catra’s cheek and clicked her tongue, but Catra barely noticed. The warmth that radiated from her hand alone was enough to make the other girl shiver and lean into her touch more than she already had. “Catra, you’re so cold! Did you fall asleep in the vents again? You know how bad that is for you sleeping schedule!” _ _   
_ _ “What?!” Catra’s voice came out shrill and squeaky, and she would have raised her voice even more if she could go without waking up other cadets. “You, you don’t know? You ...you were right there-,”  _

_ “Whaddaya mean?”  _

_ “Seriously? The freezer? You were pounding on the door like crazy! And then you just ...stopped.”  _

_ “Catra.” Adora’s voice was as shaky as Catra’s entire nervous system, and her brows scrunched up together in something resembling worry. Guilt pooled over Catra in waves, but it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t do anything to help Adora, not when she couldn’t understand. “I was just out sparring with Lonnie. What’s up with you right now?”  _ _   
_ _ “What’s up with YOU?” Catra countered, crossing her arms. If Adora was messing with her, she was going to blow up. Playing with something like that wasn’t Adora’s pranking style though, things that cruel were usually reserved for people even worse than Catra. It didn’t make sense. Yeah, This wasn’t right. Nothing about it was.  _

_ “Did you bump your head or something when you woke up? Is that why you’re acting weird?” _

_ “Um, no? Like, are you even listening to yourself…,” Steeling herself, Catra forced her anger and hurt back down into her throat. This was tiring, and her body was still hot and cold all over. She was sure she was going to get frostbite the next morning, but she could worry about that later.  _

_ Catra’s disbelief almost pressured her into prodding more, but she cut herself short when she felt a hot gaze on the back of her neck. Turning just enough to see past her shoulder, she could spot the glint of a red mask peering into the room, eyes behind the safety of a white fabric fixed on them. Shadow Weaver’s claw-like fingers gripped the side of the wall, and gripped it hard. Hard enough to leave angry, deep marks.  _

_ _ Adora _ . She had come out of the Black Garnet room. Catra didn’t need anything else to understand why she couldn’t remember. She knew, only because this had happened before. “This” had played out the same, many times, whenever Shadow Weaver punished Catra. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Despite this, an entirely new wave of discomfort hit her straight in the back of her throat. It was hard to speak, and Catra didn’t think she even could with Shadow Weaver staring right at her.  _

_ The woman in question seemed to realize that she had been caught in the doorway though and began to slip back into the hallways. Catra watched every single smidge of movement, and glared to make sure each hair was out of sight before she allowed herself to breathe again. Even though Shadow Weaver was now gone, the fur on the young cadet’s arms stayed frayed and on edge.  _

_ When Catra was finally able to tear her head away from where the evil witch of a person had stood, she was met with a pouting Adora. _

_ “What,” She spit out. It wasn’t a question, more like an accusation. _

_ “I said your name like seven times,” Adora’s tone was that of annoyance, and she rolled her eyes, but nonetheless she reached over and grabbed Catra’s hand. Peering into different colored eyes, her expression turned a little softer. “You didn’t even hear me, did you?”  _

_ “Um, no. I didn’t. I'm ...sorry.” _

_ “Dude, you’re fine. What were you staring at?” A blood red mask flashed again in Catra’s mind and the fear that had slowly started to ease away now returned full-force, coiled in her gut like a spring ready to burst.  _

_ “Didn’t matter. F-f-forget about it, okay?” She huffed, slowly pulling her hand away from Adora’s. “Let’s just go to bed. Don’t hog the blanket though, okay? I’m really cold.”  _

_ The blonde opened her mouth like she had something else to say, but wisely, Adora chose not to comment on it. “Okay, you can sleep with me tonight,” She clicked, as if Catra needed an invitation.  _

_ Tonight, Catra wasn’t sleeping at the foot of the bed. Instead, she sat right next to Adora, smuggled under the thin covers they shared. Covers, plural, because Adora had been smart enough to snag the blanket that sat atop Catra’s ever-vacant bed so that they could generate more warmth.  _

_ It was something Catra was incredibly grateful for, because even though she was practically spooning against Adora’s side, her bones hadn’t warmed up despite it being hours after the incident. Like this, she could bury herself under the fabric and pretend nothing had ever happened at all. In this little bubble she made right here, she was with Adora and they were safe. That’s all she needed to believe to get through the night.  _

_ Didn’t make sleeping any easier.  _

_ Seems like Adora was in the same boat, Catra noted, when she realized Adora’s breathing still hadn’t evened out since they had laid down. Maybe they could talk about what happened now, now that Shadow Weaver wasn’t in ear-shot and couldn’t crucify them for trying to process her actions. _

_ “Adora?” _

_ “Yeah?” The other girl was quite as she whispered into the dark cadet dorm, but Catra could hear it even with Adora’s back turned to her.  _

_ “Please don’t go back into the Black Garnet room.” _ _   
_ _ “Huh? Why?” She shifted just a little so she could make eye-contact with the other girl, gaze curious. _

_ “Because you just can’t! Ever!” Catra snapped, ears lowering. Her instincts told her to bare her teeth, but because this was Adora, she never even entertained the thought. She blamed her soft tone on the fact that she couldn’t wake up the other cadets, even though it was something she had never cared about before. “It’s dangerous, Adora.”  _

_ “Oh?” Adora’s mouth turned upwards in a small, knowing smug. She nudged Catra in the shoulder playfully. “You, wanting to protect me? Aw, it’s like you care about me or something.”  _

_ “Shut up, I’m serious. Don’t go in there. And I  _ don’t _ care, I just don’t want Shadow Weaver on my ass because you couldn’t listen to me. Being smart. Like always.” _

_ “Since when have you said, like, anything smart ever.” _

_ “Um, rude much?” Catra snorted, and she revelled in the giggles Adora gave her. Making Adora happy like that, even just for just a small moment, was always such a good reward. But it still didn’t comfort her. “But, please. Don’t go in there.”  _

_ Adora looked up, baby blue-bell irises staring into yellow and blue. “Ok. I wasn’t planning on it, really. But you seem to care about it a lot, right?”  _

_ Catra nodded. _

_ “Then I won’t. Simple as that.”  _

_ She debated that. In her head, Catra knew she could trust Adora. She was the only person for sure that Catra could  _ ever _ trust. But she always needed a safety net, and some things just didn’t get past her defenses. Not even her best friend. _

_ “...Promise?”  _

_ Even through the thick fog that was darkness, Catra caught Adora’s small smile. She nearly yelped out of surprise when Adora wrapped her arms and tugged her close, but she didn’t protest, even as Adora tucked Catra’s head under her chin. The heat was heaven to Catra’s brittle body, slowly thawing in a Fright Zone that would keep her frozen if it wasn’t for Adora, and all-in-all, falling asleep in the arms of the person she cared most for wasn’t a bad way to drift off.  _

_ “Promise.”  _

_ Finally comfortable, she was able to close her eyes. _

_ ……. _

Catra opened her eyes, and tried to blink away the tears she didn’t even realize had formed. But immediately, the light that poured into her line of vision made her shut them right back closed, and she seriously debated never opening her eyes again. A groan escaped her throat. 

“George! She’s awake!” 

Catra nearly jumped out of her skin, lashing on instinct out at whoever had just yelled in  _ her fucking ear _ . For a split second her claws caught on the flesh of whoever had cornered her, but it seems like the captor was smart enough to jump back, or be pulled away by some other force that knew better. 

“Woah there-,” A different voice chimed in. Great.  _ Two _ kidnappers. Because so far life had proven itself to be the biggest bitch. Opening her eyes again was a pain her migraine screamed agony at, but she wasn’t going to give anyone an upper hand just because her head was yelling bloody murder. 

Sitting up, Catra realized she was in a bed. A cover was thrown over lower half, and there had been two pillows that sat behind her. Her eyes trailed over to the two men standing in front of her, both zeroed in on Catra. 

“Who are you and what do you want,” She hissed, backing herself into the corner of the bed. Even when her back hit the wall 

“Hey, it’s alright.” The taller one stepped forward. He had glasses, afternoon shadow, and dreads that reached down to his collar-bone. As if she was some kind of scared animal, he leaned down and patted his thighs. If his words were as condescending as his actions, Catra was more than willing to claw his eyes out of his head. “Me and my husband here, well, we found you on the ground of the woods-,”

“And that gives you  _ what _ right to drag me away into your, your,” Catra looked around. The room they were in looked like a little kid’s room, there were posters all over the walls and toy figures that sat atop the drawers. What fucking interagation room did Bright Mooners have anyways? “...home.” 

“Well,” The other one spoke up, hands reaching to pat down his mustache. “Lance here saw that you were in some sort of pain, yes?” He waited a moment for Catra to give some sort of yes or no, but it didn’t happen. He carried on, “We have supplies here that we can treat you with, if needed. As long as you tell us your symptoms we can work something out.” 

She glared at the space between his eyes. Why? There had to be some ulterior motive these two were hiding from her. Like, why else would someone go out of their way to shelter a complete stranger that they had just so happened to find lying on the ground. Just because these two put on friendly faces didn’t mean it was enough for Catra to let her guard down, it could be exactly what they wanted. She bared her teeth, keeping her claws extended in case things went awry like Catra thought they would.

The one named Lance coughed into the awkward silence, and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Do tell, what’s your name?” 

Catra did nothing but glare again, that ever-present tension that adults gave her keeping her on her feet. Lance pulled a pout when she didn’t answer, and turned to his husband at a loss. They shared some sort of look that Catra couldn’t decipher, but when Lance turned back to face her he looked just as peppy as before. It was infuriating.

“Hhhhokay! Not at that stage yet, huh? Well, that’s fine!” He cheered, humming to himself. “My name is Lance-”

“He already said that.” Catra pointed an extended claw to the man behind Lance who had proven to be much less annoying than his partner.

“Oh, um, right. Yes, look at you! Good catch,” He praised, although Catra caught a fraction of a disheartened look cross his face. He bit at his fingertip, and swayed a little bit as he thought. “Well, we need to identify you with something. Can’t just call you ‘girl’, right? How dehumanizing. Or, well. How de-magikating.” He laughed at his own joke way too easily, and the sound wore down Catra’s nerves thin despite herself. “How’s fluffy?” Lance offered a small smile, but it quickly dropped when Catra returned his questioning glance with a dead-eyed stare. 

“Only kidding.”

“Only kidding,” Catra mimicked, smiling in a way she hoped looked dangerous. 

Lance opened his mouth like he was going to say more but his husband stepped forward, giving Lance a look that practically begged for him to stop talking. Good, Catra thought.   
“Sorry about that. Of course, you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to. Including something like your name,” He looked over at Lance, turning his head back over to Catra to give her a small smile. “I go by George.”

George held his hand out. She stared down at it wearily, and although she didn’t take it she looked back up at him.   
“Catra.”

“What?” He blinked twice. She bit back another rude comment. It was just- how could that be confusing? She just answered their question that they had been so intent on prying out of her. So, there really was no room for confusion when she made it clear. Catra pinched her fingers to the bridge of her nose, finding little comfort to ease her returning headache. 

“My name,” She put hard emphasis on the n and m, to put a little more edge into her voice than she felt she had in that moment, “Is Catra.” 

“Oh.” Lance clapped his hands together. “Nice to meet you, Catra.”

“Sure. Likewise,” She groaned through her teeth. Her exhaustion from before was slowly coming back to her, even though she had spent a good time asleep. She understood though, restful peace only went hand in hand with restful dreams. All she wanted to do now was get out of wherever she was holed up now, and find a nice tree to sleep her life away on. That seemed like her best option, she thought, as she ran a hand through her hair.

Wait. Her blood went cold. Where was her headpiece? 

Her hands bolted up to check for the solid material that adorned her forehead, only to press her claws to flesh and her mane.Stuffing manifested itself into Catra’s throat, and her hands tore down her face as her body began to shake. She was done for. If there was any chance they had seen her scar, then Catra was done for. That was the only option. These were people of the Whispering Woods, allies of the Rebellion and dear old Shadow Weaver’s “gift” would be her one way ticket into the Bright Moon prison. 

She, she couldn’t. She couldn’t face Adora. Not now. The familiar feeling of nausea ran through Catra’s bones. Not ever.

A hand clasped down onto her shoulder, pulling her back down to earth.

“Catra? Dear, what’s wrong” George asked, head cocked to one side. He sat down on the bed, in the space right next to her. It should have sent her into more frenzied panic but his hand was comforting on her back in a way touch normally wasn’t for her. Catra’s breathing evened out. Her tail curled around her and she looked everywhere but at Lance or George. 

“My,” god, she sounded pathetic. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, she couldn’t showcase her weakness to people she barely even knew. Catra steeled herself, her fingers dug into the mattress hard enough to tear it. “My headpiece. I-.”

Lance stepped forward, the red accessory in his hands. He didn’t look confused like George had, just ...understanding. He made off to set it down gently in Catra’s hands, but she snatched it away from him as soon as her thoughts caught up with her eyes. 

Realizing that she had taken it for herself, Lance sat down on her other side and watched her. But Catra was busy sliding and adjusting the head-piece back to her forehead, she hadn’t noticed. 

There. Her claws tapped at the sides of the damned thing, and Catra could let out a sigh she didn’t realize she had been holding in. Now, she wasn’t at risk. 

Except, she was. With George and Lance on either side of her, she was boxed in. In an instant, she jumped to her feet, away from either man. Sparing one glance over her shoulder, her brain sent her a small guilty feeling she didn’t know what to do with. 

“Um,” Catra bit her lip, and took two more steps forward and away from George and Lance. “Thanks. Bye-,”

“Wait, where are you going?” Lance asked, standing up himself, the bed they had sat on creaked from the sudden loss of pressure. George followed Lance’s lead. 

“Out of here.” She looked away from them, tired already of whatever was to come.

“Oh, that is not a good idea,” George piped in, stepping forward. “Are you sure? You don’t look like you’ve fully healed from whatever it i-,”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Catra groaned, shoulders tense. She had to get out of here. Clearly, these guys weren’t a threat to her, but she wasn’t going to stick around to wait until they were. “Lay off, and mind your own business.”   
“But-,” Catra didn’t listen to whatever it was they had to say next, just started to stalk out of the room. Of course, these guys lived in what looked like a fucking mansion, Catra noted, as she looked around outside of the doorway. What direction was out? Whatever, she chose a random direction and began that way. 

She could hear George and Lance cause a commotion behind her, but it was the least of her troubles right now. One of her top ones being her head. All this yelling and stress was totally in favor of keeping her brain from aching, right? 

Fuck, finding her way outside was proving to be a lot harder than she realized. It took her three different paths for her to find what looked like the living room, although it had more books than living space. Walking in it, Catra figured these guys must be librarians or something of that nature. Not that it was important, she was going to never see them again soon enough. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Catra spotted her way out. A gigantic doorframe with beautiful ornate design had been obscured by a tall bookshelf, but she had caught it quickly enough to turn around and pass through the doors.

But that was the wrong move. 

When Catra was hit by the air outside, it seemed like that air pushed its way into her lungs by forcing everything else out. Her eyes and ears caught up on every single thing outside, and she meant everything. The sun that bore down on her body, the rustle of the animals in hiding, the wind that brushed her bare skin in a way that felt wrong. It was overwhelming. 

A surge of throbbing pain shot through Catra’s body, and she crumpled to her feet. Her hands that had been idle by her sides now tugged at her ears, forcing them down so that she didn’t have to process any more noise. And if that wasn’t bad enough her vision went blurry under the shining world around her. Even if it wasn’t the same feeling, Catra felt trapped. Like ...like she was back in that freezer, screaming but with no one around to hear here. It was exactly like that. Except Adora wasn’t going to come back with a smile on her unknowing face, Adora wasn’t going to come back at all. 

Two hands grabbed Catra by the shoulders, and she was dragged back into the safety of the less stimulating house of George and Lance. Lance in question, was the one who had pulled Catra back in, and placed her onto what seemed like their couch. George, on the other hand, rushed to the front of the room to shut the doors. Turning back to the other two people in the room, he closed his eyes before tossing his head back.

“See,  _ that _ was what I was worried about,” He scolded, his hands shooting up to flail about. The movement itself wasn’t violent, but it still made Catra and her on-edge nerves flinch nonetheless. The near heartbroken face George made in response was lost on Catra, who glared down at the floor. 

What in the name of Etheria was wrong with her? 

“Young lady,” Lance seemed to wince at the use of the term but pressed on. “You really aren’t in any condition to leave this house. It seems like you have chronic migraines, and if you exert yourself in such a way you’re only going to worsen your condition.” 

Even if Catra’s ear had picked up on them speaking, her head was in such a messy place that she didn’t even realize they were talking. Her thoughts came out slow and simple.

She skinned her knee when she fell.

She noticed that. Catra also noticed that her hands and head felt like they were full of static. Huh. It was new compared to the dull numb or intense pain that had characterized her senses. Certain times, dissociating was preferable to any actual feeling. Like right now. 

Looking up, George and Lance were both gazing down at her with concern weaved into their frowns and tight-knit brows. 

“I don’t have a choice. I have nowhere to go.” 

“Nonsense,” Lance huffed, although he shot an inquisitive look at George before he spoke up again. “You have here.”

“I,” Catra’s words caught in her throat but she dragged them out into the air to lay bare in front of Lance and George. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?” George piped in, a hopeful look on his face. The kindness that radiated from him was almost familiar, like Catra had seen it on someone else before. Not Scorpia, but someone like her. “Me and Lance are more than willing to extend our home to you, it would be no problem for us. I assure you, most rooms go unused nowadays, and it’d be nice to have an extra person to sit at the dinner table with us.” 

“And, we have all the books in the world to keep you entertained! And, for the record, I have a second major in nursing,” Lance beamed.  _ What’s nursing?  _ Catra thought. “So you’ll be in good hands regarding medical care, okay?”

“Exactly,” George added on, looking at Lance with love in his eyes. When he turned to Catra he pulled a more serious face. Getting down on one knee to be eye-level to her, he offered his hands again. “You’d only have to stay here until you’re well enough to leave, if that’s what’s bothering you. It’s all your choice though, so don’t let us pressure you into making a decision you won’t be comfortable with in the long run.” 

Catra debated this. It was already clear enough that neither George nor Lance were a threat to her safety, but if they found out that she came form the Horde, she doubted they would be as forgiving as they were now. She was no long lost princess that could be redeemed easily. But, if she played her cards right, then ...they wouldn’t know. And, she really had no choice. If she tried to face it out in the Whispering Woods all on her own, she wouldn’t last a week without dying of starvation or her head straight up ripping open to kill her. Her overstimulation to everything just minutes ago proved as much, and they seemed confident in helping her get over whatever was hurting her head, so that was a bonus. Here, there was a safety net. One that Catra was never allowed, and it was freeing. So, why was it scary? 

She reached over and grabbed George’s hand, and nodded.

“Alright,” She looks down at where their hands interlock, and buckled down on her final decision. “I’ll stay here.” George grins, and Lance beside him claps his hands happily. They really look too pleased just to be helping a stranger. Maybe she’d figure them out by staying here. 

“Promise?” George asks. The word alone is all it takes to jolt Catra out of her foggy thoughts, and she sits straight up. When she looks between Lance and George, she realizes they expect an answer. Catra inhales once. In her brain she pictures Adora, cuddled up next to her on their bunk as kids. The image slowly fades, and she exhales.

“Yeah, promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) how was that? im sad scoob.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta we die like men  
also IM SORRY for updating later than i said i would but i've had some shit going on at home. i'll say my twin is in the mental hospital, but i'm going to leave it at that.   
thanks for everyone who was patient enough for this chapter! i wrote a lot in the free time I had, and i'm pretty proud of some scenes!

For the first night in, Lance decides it’d be far too much for Catra to meet all of the boys yet. Even though it was only Axel, Gil, and Baker who lived with them anymore he had a feeling that would still be a bit overwhelming for their newest housemate. And Lance, who could be one of the most overbearing and obnoxious of them all, knew that his family tended to have extreme personalities….. that meant dinner with all five of them was out of the question. At least for now. So Lance had George tell the kids that there was a new person under the roof, but she wasn’t ready to meet all of them. So, if they saw her they should wait to introduce themselves until one of their dads gave them the go ahead. In short, respect her space. 

And while George ran off and did that, Lance designated himself house tour duty. He announced it with excited jazz hands, and Catra just blinked up at him. But when he jumped up from the couch, she trailed behind him. Of course, she dragged her feet across the floor like she was reluctant to go anywhere, but she agreed to the tour nonetheless. 

The first place in the house was the living room. 

“Well, this is it,” He began gesturing to where they currently stood. “Our humble abode of a living room!”

“Living room?” Catra blanked. She stared up at the intricate designs that trailed across the stairwell, ”This looks more like a hoarder’s happy place.”

Lance forced a laugh out loud, even though it felt like a personal gut punch to have his interior design choices mocked. “You are quite the funny one, Catra! I have a feeling you’re going to get along well with Gil!”

“Gil?” Catra’s ears flattened to her head. “Who…?” 

“He’s one of my sons. I have thirteen, with George of course. And yes, I know, that is a lot, I know. I get it all the time.” 

“I wasn’t going to say that.” She almost looked annoyed that he assumed so. But then again, it was hard to tell with her. So far she looked annoyed at everything.

Catra glanced around, shifting from her standing spot just a little bit, like she was preparing for an ambush. “Do they ...all live here?”

“Oh, goodness no! Nearly all of them are out of the house. My oldest just turned thirty one. It’s just me, George, and three others. Although they do visit from time to time, some of the boys more than others,” Lance rambled, pressing his hands together. As Catra processed that information she loosened a little, like she didn’t feel as threatened as she had before. “Oh, and you don’t have to introduce yourself to any of them until you want to. They’re pretty understanding kids.” 

“What if I don’t want to meet them at all?” 

“Oh.” Lance rocked on the balls of his feet. “I think that it might be hard to manage, since you’ll be under the same roof as them for some time, but if that’s what you want…. The boys will be disappointed but you really don’t need to. I certainly won’t force you, and neither will George. Nothing to worry about.”

Catra shot him a glance, hard and confused. Her hands clenched open and close at her sides, and she turned down to the floor when she realized she had been caught staring. Lance sighed. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” She stated, her stare boring down so hard into the ground Lance had half the mind to assume she was going to burn a hole through the floor. “It’s just weird.”

“What about it?”   
“You’re giving me a choice.” Oh. Oh, dear. What kind of life was Catra living if she had really been concerned he was just going to spring his entire family unto her without any care for her? Well. A life in the Horde.

“....Did you say they were all boys?” Catra glanced up, eyes curious. It was enough to immediately derail Lance’s current train of thought.

“Yes! Yes I did! Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know much about biology because I skipped that class, but isn’t that like? Unlikely? Thirteen kids in a pool gene and none of them are girls?”

“For an entirely blood related family, sure. But all our sweet ones are adopted,” Lance paused. “That is to say, all of them.” 

Catra rolled her eyes. “If you say so. I’ll see it for myself….,” Lance perked up at this. “That is, if I meet them.”

At that, Lance just laughed again. 

…….

Catra was never the first one to enter a room, and not the first to leave. Lance noticed this when they headed to the bathroom. It was just a bathroom, obviously, so nothing about it was incredibly interesting. But, he did remember to show her exactly how the shower worked, since the amount of knobs and handles that could be used were a bit confusing to navigate on their own. Then were the closets that went right to the laundry room that went out to the garage. Annnnnd, what else? 

He tapped a finger to his chin as they sat in the mess that was the garage. The space was mostly full of Bow’s half-done experiments and Gil’s greasy tools. Catra poked at things that halfway got her attention, but still kept to herself for the most part. It was almost like she wasn’t even there, with how quiet she ended up being.

He tried not to let that make him nervous.

“Oh! The balcony!” Lance hummed out, jogging up the stairs. The blasted thing creaked with every step he took, but personally he thought that was part of the charm. Rickety old houses always felt lived in. He said as much to Catra, but if she had a comment on that she kept it to herself as she trailed after him. 

The second floor was where everyone’s rooms where, with most of the kids’ old rooms tucked farther away where no one went. There was the one Catra was staying in though, Tyler’s old bedroom. Hopefully she didn’t mind the thousand paper cranes that hung from the ceiling and the hundreds of Ty’s own sketches that he had hung up on the wall- Lance just didn’t have the heart to take them down. For the most part all of there rooms went untouched. It was funny, now that Lance thought about it. He hadn’t even realized how many places there where in his house that he neglected while he worked, balcony included. Maybe tomorrow he’d go around and do some cleaning, not that he had much else to do. Forcing his thoughts out of his head pushed him to walk to the very end of the walkway, where the door to the balcony was. 

Stepping out into the fresh air was something he hadn’t even known he’d needed, but immediately Lance was grateful for the chance to relax out in the open. The girl next to him less so. Her shoulders were still tense even despite touring around the house for over an hour, and her eyes searched over the space like she was looking for traps. Her tail was quite literally between her legs. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” 

“Sure,” Catra hissed, gripping onto her head. Her claws seemed to extend without her knowing, the sharp appendages dangerously close to digging into her skin. “Really great to go straight back into the sun with my killer fucking headache. Such a blast, Lance. Got any other fantastic ideas?” 

“Oh shit,” Lance forgot his composure for a minute and even though Catra’s eyes were shut tight in the face of sunlight, he saw her snicker at his cursing. He flushed with shame as much as someone with his dark complexion could flush “I’m sorry, I was being forgetful. Um. Here!”

In a moment of quick wit, Lance remembered the umbrella hanging on the coat rack inside. Now not spending so much time staring through all of the rooms he passed, he made his way straight downstairs for the umbrella. Seriously, how did he just space something like that. No wonder she had been uncomfortable the entire time if her head was killing her. Grabbing the black handle that shot up from the coat rack in the living room, Lance stopped dead in his tracks at the kitchen. 

The medicine cabinet! There were some pain meds in there he could grab- so he did. Multiple, if only because he wasn’t sure which one she would prefer. He made a note of showing Catra the kitchen later, after they could enjoy the balcony together. 

When Lance ran back up, he saw that Catra had slumped over by the bench that sat right in front of the railing. Instead of grabbing at her head she was tugging down on the lighter brown hairs near her ears, eyebrows scrunched together in what Lance assumed to be a mix of pain and anger. Her jaw clenched as he stepped towards her, but she made no other move. 

Popping open the parasol above her, he sat down next to Catra. She seemed to sense the shade cover her figure, and looked up. She was of course met with the baby-blue fabric of the thing, covered in a pattern of pastel hearts and stars. She squinted at the umbrella like it had personally offended her. The cutesy pattern probably wasn’t her style.

“So sorry about that.”   
“Yeah. You should be,” Her tone was harsh but Lance, who not only had no idea how to handle conflict, knew it was deserved. She looked down at his cupped hand and the small blue dot that was in it, next to two more orange bottles with scribbles all across them. “What’s that?”

“Um, I don’t remember the exact name but it sounds like an old wizard. It’s a med that dulls the type of pain th-,” Before Lance could even finish his thought Catra had plucked it from his hand and slammed it down her throat. 

“Oh-,” 

“....Thanks,” Catra muttured. She pulled her tail up over her feet, and refused to look back at Lance. Not that he minded, he was just happy that they had got it sorted out. He held the umbrella a little higher.

“No problem. Tell me when the headache comes back, and I’ll see how much you can take. Alright?”

Catra gave a curt nod, and that sent them back into a comfortable silence.

Coming up to the balcony had been a rather good idea, minus Catra’s migraines, Lance thought to himself. Out here under the cool shade was a paradise of its own, wind softly blowing in his face and the calm white noise of the leaves rustling gently. He remembered the earlier days, days like this, when him and George had just bought the house. All the kids liked to sit and listen to George read old eternian legends with his most charming voice, loud enough that Lance could tune in as well, even from the garden below. The good old days. T

imes seemed to blend into each other up here, as Lance and Catra watched the outside around them unfold in the woods. A bird hopped along the trunk of a tree, singing a melody that was indecipherable to them. An ant colony was busy at work, one bunch carrying the remains of a beetle up to the little anthill. Catra herself seemed to like it, even though her introduction to the view hadn’t been stellar. Her ears twitched at every little noise with a curious air, and she seemed to relax into the bench for the first time today. If Lance was smiling, he didn’t realize. 

“You know…,” He started, watching the way Catra leaned a little over the railing, to look down at the garden she hadn’t noticed before. “None of the boys are ever up here anymore. My, not even George or me on most occasions.”

“Really?” Catra asked, head tilted to the side. 

“I mean, sometimes I come up here to read,” He admitted. “But otherwise this space would be all yours to lounge about on, undisturbed by anyone in the house.” 

“Cool.” Catra picked at her nails like she was trying to come off nonchalant, but he could see the small hint of satisfaction she wore upon her features. One of her fangs jutted out a little bit from her mouth, hooking on to her lip like it was trying to keep her from smiling. Lance made sure that his smile was visible though, just so she could know he was having a decent time himself even though the act wasn’t much.

The walk back down the first floor had been one of the most unintentionally funny circumstances Lance had partaken in.

This was because of the ball of fluff sat at the bottom of the staircase. 

Catra’s eyes bored into the creature. The creature stared back. They blinked at each other. Catra’s ear twitched one way, and the cat’s ear would twitch the other. It vaguely reminded Lance of fragments of those old western films, which made him chuckle to himself a bit. When he stepped down to the floor, Catra was two steps back. 

“W….who is he?” Catra crumpled up behind Lance, looking like she wanted to hold onto his wrist for support but not daring to reach out. “And why is he staring at me?”

“Oh, that’s fairly simple. One, he stares at everybody who’s new. It’s kind of his thing. And two….well. Our youngest is her technical owner and he got to name her, so the name is a bit silly. This is Monkey.” Lance cracked a grin, and reached down to scratch behind the old boy’s ear. The creature, in response, began to purr up a storm. The cat did have little paws that looked quite ape-ish, so Lance could see why eight-year-old-Bow had chosen such a literal name.

“Wha,-” Catra grimaced, still choosing to hide beside Lance, although she danced on her feet like she was going to pounce on something. “Why’s it making that noise? Isitgonnaexplode?”   
“Is ‘it’ what now?”

“He’s vibrating. Is it gonna explode?” 

“Explode?” He snuffled a snort, scooping up Monkey in his arms. Monkey booped his nose in response, sticking his tounge out for a second. “Why, my baby would never. Would he? Never ever!” He babbled that last part into Monkey’s ears, using his most high-pitched baby voice in the world. He nearly choked on the fur that he inhaled into his nose and mouth, though. Cats. 

“Then why is he making that noise?” 

“You mean, why is he purring?” 

Catra blinked, and she stepped out and around Lance. She inspected the pure white feline thoroughly, eyes taking in every single detail they could while she crossed her arms. 

“I...don’t know what that means.” Even if she was in a different spot than before, she remained just as far away from Monkey on the other side. It was ridiculous, since Monkey was just a cat, but it was kind of cute too. 

“Well, nothing to worry about. He’s just expressing content when he’s making this noise.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at the cat again, and reached out to pet him. For a second Monkey looked like he didn’t know what to do and hesitantly sniffed at Catra’s fingers. It only took him a second to warm up to her though, and immediately he allowed for the girl to pet him. At that, Monkey only intensified in his purring and began leaning in to Catra’s hand to get more pets and scritches, eyes closed. When Catra hesitantly took her hand away Monkey still leaned towards Catra’s touch, and his head jerked abruptly as he nearly tipped over Lance’s grip.

“Aw, he likes you!” 

“Nah, he’s just clingy,” Catra mumbled, although there was a soft smile on her face and she was ever so gentle with the old cat. When she looked back up at Lance she hardened just a little, “but still pretty embarrassing.”

“The purring?”

“Yeah, duh. Why would you want people to know what you were feeling? It’s like...personal? No? It’s enter...too…?”

“Intrusive?”

“Yeah, that. It just seems like a bad design choice to me.”

“Really? Catra, you’re a magicat! I’m sure you’ve purred before, even if you don’t know it.” Catra made a horrified face at that which made Lance burst out laughing(Much to the former’s annoyment.) He tsssked playfully, taking one of Monkey’s paws and using it like a drumstick. With every word he lifted it up and down, and the old man in response protested with a single ‘meow.’ “Cat. It’s even in your name. Cat-ra. Oh! Almost sounds like She-ra!”

Catra stiffened. “What do you know about She-ra?”

“Well, for one, I study her,” He hummed the words out in a sing-song tone, although it didn’t go unnoticed that Catra slowly stepped back away from him, until they were considerably less close together than before. Now, the only movement she made was wringing her hands around each other until her skin was red. Lance cringed at the sight.

“Something wrong?” He didn’t need an answer when the conclusion came to him so easy, but if Catra needed to voice something then that was what he was here for. The poor girl was nearly sweating bullets when she hadn’t a moment before. It was just ... why? 

Was she scared? Of She-Ra? 

Well, Adora mentioned routinely fighting the Horde and it’s different squads. That could be an explanation… yeah, it made sense. She-Ra had been incredibly intense for Lance to come to terms with even as an ally. Seeing her full power in battles, where that brute strength could be directly singled out on you…..Lance just shivered at the thought. He wasn’t scared of Adora, but he realized that if he was in Catra’s situation he would be. 

It had been a while since the hallway had gone silent, and Lance was almost going to speak up again but he didn’t know what to say. When he finally got the courage to even consider making more small talk, he was interrupted. Monkey finally seemed to catch on to the tension that hung in the air and wriggled out of Lance’s arms to jump down onto the floor. For a second, he circled around Catra’s legs. Then he jogged past the two of them and out of sight, taking the old conversation with them. Well, that moment was gone. 

“I,” Catra breathed in, and out. It made him realize just how heavy she had been heaving in the first place. “No. No, I’m okay.” Well, obviously she wasn’t. But it wasn’t his place to ask just yet, so for now he would just avoid talking about She-Ra if it was a trigger for Catra. That made the most sense, especially because he could always just ramble with George if he really needed to talk about it. Lance cleared his throat.

“Moving on, shall we?”

…..

Catra had no idea how someone could act like they were  _ that _ genuinely happy all the time. Lance was almost as bad as Scorpia in that regard, since he introduced every new room like it was a palace from a faraway kingdom he hadn’t visited before, even though it was his own goddamn house.  _ Catra _ certainly didn’t see what was so special about it.

All there was were cobwebs hiding in the corners and vintage furniture that looked too valuable for Catra to have any business being near. And seriously, how many rooms could a place have?   
Even in the wide expanse that was theFright Zone, it had felt like Catra had seen everything. Probably because she was always running off to conveniently avoid the meetings and training courses of the day. And then, even though Adora would scold her for not showing up to the things that were important, they’d end up snuggled in bed with her begging Catra to tell her what the farthest reaches of the Fright-Zone had been like. What it had been like wasn’t pleasant. A lot of the time she’d bump into dick superiors who would yell at her until her ears rang and she’d get scars on the pads of her feet from the sharp exposed wiring and gears that cut through unfinished steel flooring. Really the only fun part about exploring was being able to find new places to ignore people. Still, she’d sugar coat it for Adora. It made her smile wide and praise Catra for her bravery while also making Adora just the littlest bit jealous. She didn’t have the dexterity to jump through different factions to find the secret places, but Catra always promised once they were force captains and had the free-time to that she’d show Adora every single best napping spot she had found. That, obviously, never came to fruition.

It was only when Catra was fifteen had she explored every inch of the industrial wasteland, but it wasn’t like Hordak wasn’t forcing some of the more “talentless” soldiers to build more and more. There was always a construction zone on the outskirts, even though there was much more that needed to be touched up in the basic infrastructure alone. Absently, Catra wondered how much more the empire had expanded since Adora had found the sword. After that had happened, she hadn’t really cared enough to check.

But whatever the Fright-Zone was, it wasn’t for children. It was for soldiers. In that sense it was very, extremely, unlike this, in George and Lance’s house. Everything had a roundness and softness to it here that Catra liked, but wasn’t used to. Like the carpet between her toes now, in Lance and George’s shared study. 

“Me and George spend most of our time here,” Lance said, obscured behind a desk as he crouched down to grab something. Catra watched him shuffle around as he spoke, feeling a little useless as she watched him struggle to find whatever it was he had been looking for. “So if you ever need something and we aren’t in earshot, your best bet is to look for us here.” 

He shot up, keys in hand.

“And this, young lady,” Lance beamed, “are the spares you can use to get around the house! I showed you about everything so far except for this study and the kitchen. There’s nothing that’s really off limits except for our bedroom, and the kids’ rooms unless otherwise started! Just make sure that when you use these you lock the doors back up once you head out.” 

He tossed the chain the keys were on over to her, and Catra caught it on the tip of one of her claws.

Looking down at the ring, something beat down on the back of Catra’s head. It wasn’t a pang of pain like the nightmare migraine that had seemingly settled down and made a permanent seat in her head, this was ...different. In a way that felt too positive for anything Catra deserved right now. A bittersweet validation. 

Because keys where even on the smallest level, a trust. Where Adora couldn’t trust Catra to take care of herself, where Shadow Weaver couldn’t trust Catra to be her own person, where Hordak couldn’t trust her to be competent, Lance did. Without hesitation, here in the softness of everything that was his home. She could, and felt obligated to, call Lance stupid and naive for handing out his trust so easily but the thought was dulled by that feeling, the warmth that was hard to shake off. But it couldn’t mean anything. For Lance, this was nothing more than a case of inconvenience. So that he didn’t have to run down and unlock every door for her when she needed to get somewhere. That had to be it. Because Catra knew better than anyone that after all the shit she’d pulled, she probably doesn’t deserve a life. Let alone something as simple as a stranger’s trust. 

“Catra? Hello?” Blinking back to life, Catra realized that Lance was standing right in front of her. He wore an expression that looked a little lost, but when he saw Catra had tuned back in he smiled bright. He waved his hand a couple inches away from her face and itt was instinct that made her jump back and hiss at him. His split-second yelp and frown in response wasn’t enough to make her apologize. Only guilty.

“What?” She snapped, brain a little fried. Thinking about things like that took way too much out of her, and she should probably lie down later. The migraine would only get worse if she didn’t. 

“I just wanted to say that because today is your first day, you can look around here. I think the best way to avoid sneaking around is to indulge a person’s curiosity, so as long as you don’t touch anything on George’s desk, you have free reign!” Lance gave a curt grin, then stepped off to one of the bookshelves. She watch him until he was clearly done with any sort of conversation, wrapped up in his own little world. 

“Oookay…,” Catra gripped at the keys softly, jingling them just a little bit. It was a sound she could used to. Looking back up at the study around her, she realized she was unsure of where to go next. The decision made was that she would branch off in the opposite direction of Lance, so that she wasn’t in his way while he did whatever he was doing.

The study was relatively small compared to the rest of the rooms in the house, with almost every wall lined with a bookshelf. Just the four walls, with one desk pressed to left side and another on the opposite.

The first desk on the left was obviously Lance’s. Something about it was just….him. She would have been able to tell even if her enhanced smell hadn’t given it away. It was just a mess. There was a simple little lamp placed on the far left and a little cup full of pens and pencils, but other than that it was complete chaos. The books that were there were all in various states of open, thrown across each other haphazardly with little sticky notes taped in. One of the said sticky notes was taped right above with a little scribble Catra could make out as “Remember to take breaks!” with a little smiley face next to it. She glared at it. 

Turning back to the whole of the room, she realized just how intimate the shared space was. Between the two desks Lance and George would only have to scoot backwards a little to be back-to-back, while they did work. And she could imagine it, just like that. The two of them cozy up in here during the winter, swapping notes and laughing, just enjoying the other’s presence as they did the workload for that day. Very incredibly lived in, and warm. Loved. 

It was the sort of set-up she’d always imagined her and Adora having…. 

George’s desk was near opposite of Lance, organization wise. All of his textbooks were in a concise and neat pile that were clearly put into a system of priority and content. The language books stayed with the language books, and all of the documents sat bound together. Immaculate was the word for it. Or just incredibly pedantic. But there was some of George in it, even if it was a little barebones.

Like the pictures. He had at least four different frames on his desk, and an entire collection of photos hung up above him. Most where of what Catra assumed to be historian adventures. Well. As much as a historian could have an adventure. Pictures of friends, places, and the sky. A lot of the sky. But there was a frame that seemed to stick to the side, like it was trying to shy away from the rest. Naturally it was the one that got her attentoin.

First was the frame, a soft peach color that ran into the wooden mold. Little carvings of bees and small animals sat stuck in the thing, little hearts in their wooden eyes. It was sickeningly cute. Catra rolled her eyes. 

In the frame itself though, that was a different story. It was a picture of Lance and George, much younger than they are now. She could tell because neither had any facial hair, and there weren’t as many creases that accompanied their smiles. And in George's lap was a young girl, who had squirmed so much that she blurred a bit in the picture. Not enough to be completely unidentifiable though, Catra noted, as she observed her. The girl looked no older than eight, and her smile was so wide Catra could even see she had a gap-tooth. All across the floor of the photo were messily opened boxes, with what looked like presents. 

A party, Catra had learned. Supposedly there were all types of parties, but based on what Kyle (2) had told her out in the Crimson Waste this seemed like a “birthday” party. To celebrate someone turning another year older. It was weird, and Catra was probably never going to see another party again before she died in a ditch somewhere, but she tried to think back on the day Scorpia was born. She realized she had never asked. 

“I thought you had all boys,” Catra taunted, looking over at Lance, who had become transfixed in rearranging a shelf next to his desk. There was a small snowglobe he kept pushing back and forth, like he didn’t know which spot looked better. 

“I do,” Lance answered back after a moment. He put the snowglobe on the left side and shifted in Catra’s direction, looking a bit confused. He raised his eyebrow at Catra, and she just pointed to the photo. Part of her wanted to pick it up, but she remembered what Lance had said about touching things and kept her hands to herself. 

“Oh.” His voice had come out much softer than before, and his hands dropped to his sides. “That’s Jean.”

“She a relative or something?” 

“Yes, my daughter. Or. Well, the best way to explain it is that she ...was.” 

“Oh.” Catra’s throat went dry. Dry enough for the roof of her mouth to feel like a textured paper rather than part of her own body. If she was outlines on a painting, someone had probably ran a hand across them and smeared them all over the canvas. “What happened to her? She move away too?”

Lance smiled softly, shaking his head. There was something farther back in his eyes that seemed torn and shattered, but he looked away before Catra could properly understand. She added asking that question to the overflowing pile of regrets in the back of her head.

“Don’t be ashamed for asking, it’s alright.” He said, like he had read her mind. He stepped back over to where Catra was, and placed a hand on the frame. His thumb brushed over each face in the photo, and Lance grimaced when it reached the girl Catra now knew as ‘Jean.’ Lance collapsed the frame and laid it flat on the desk so that the photo inside wasn’t visible anymore. He then turned over to Catra, sighing like the act in and of itself was soothing to him. It might have been. “Jean was our first kid. She wanted to join the Rebellion. She succeeded.” 

Clearly not for long enough if she ‘was’ rather than ‘is.’ Was that rude? Catra didn’t know. It was hard to focus past her rampant questions that she bit down and the coil of dread snaking up the insides of her stomach. How did she become someone who was? Did she die in a fight against the Horde? The Rebellion only really had one true enemy, and it was Catra’s entire past. A war hero that Catra could have personally been the one to end? It was a real possibility. 

A real possibility that stabbed it’s way into Catra’s head.

Stress, as it turned out, was a great inducer of pain and an ever greater trigger to Catra’s happy little migraine-inducing center. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out much softer than she had wanted it to, but then again, that seemed to happen a lot around Lance. The words were so incredibly forced sounding and pathetic to Catra, but he looked touched all the same. He placed a hand over his heart. And maybe his eyes were a little bit teary, but Catra wouldn’t know. She had stopped looking up after she understood what had happened to Jean.

“Don’t be.” He smiled for the rest of the time in there after that, but when they headed out for their last pitstop she saw the way he glanced back at the study, and the frame face-down on the desk.

….

And last, but certainly not least, stopped off at the kitchen. 

“This is my favorite place in the house,” Lance stated lamely, placing his hands on his hips and whistling absently. The girl beside him looked up at it uninterested, and rolled her head around to inspect the new area. It seemed like nothing caught her eye but she turned and humored him anyways. 

“Why’s that?”

“Well I’m glad you asked!” He beamed, rushing over to the spice cabinet. Making a show of putting the contents on display, he gestured wildly to all of the different spices situated in it. “I think this collection is even finer than all of our library, and that’s saying something!” He grabbed randomly at one of the shakers, pulling out what was labeled as Cardamon. 

Popping off the lid, he handed it to Catra who took it cautiously. She gently lifted up the bottle to her face, and he chuckled when her nose scrunched up at the strong scent. Her ears flattened to her head and she looked up at Lance with a pout, but she didn’t growl at him like he thought she would.

“Even though history is my main passion, I like cooking when historian work gets too overwhelming. That’s why it’s my favorite place in the house. That, and here I come up with some of the most flavorful and delicious meals Etheria has ever tasted!” He ended his boasting with a self-affirming pat on the shoulder. When he looked back down at Catra, she still held the cardamon in her palms, turning it over and over. “Oh, and Catra?”

“Yes?” 

“ If you ever feel inclined, you can always experiment with what I have.” 

“Like ...with cooking?” She screwed the cardamon lid back on securely, and reached up to put it exactly where it had been. Her brows scrunched up in confusion, and her hands didn’t stop the turning over motion even though she had nothing to hold. A nervous tick? Maybe he’d find her something to toy and fidget with next time he was out at the marketplace.

“That is what I meant.” Lance smiled down at her, but Catra was distractedly looking at spice cabinet. Lance followed her gaze.

It truly was, for all purposes, quite a grand collection. He had nearly sixty different seasonings in there, some of his own making. Each had a rich color that hinted at what it was, and they were all lined up neatly in rows designed for easy access. An aesthetic masterpiece. And it had every reason to be, since Lance had started this particular collection long before he had even met George. He had just gotten out of university, he remembers fondly. The first couple shakers had come from a little old lady from the woods, who he had bumped into when he was searching for an old ones temple to compare his research to. She had been fairly strange and talked to herself on and off, but despite that she was incredibly kind and not only showed Lance the way to the temple he was looking for but gave him a parting gift. At first he only used the herbs and spices she had thrusted into him because he felt obligated to use the presents he received but once he really started to incorporate them into his dishes(with praises from his children and husband no less) he took up cooking on a more regular basis. The entire process was so interesting, and when Lance read about the trademark foods a specific culture indulged in, he thought of all the different flavors hiding in the kitchen. 

Catra coughed loudly into her hand, and it jolted him out of his thoughts again.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

“I don’t think I will,” Catra muttered, turning back over to Lance. 

“Oh? Any reason why?” He tried not to sound disappointed, because really there was no reason to be, but he had hoped they could bond over being a super cooking duo, or something like that. Oh well, they had all the time in the world to learn about each other’s interests, he was sure they could connect with something.

“I mean, yeah? Not to sound like a prick or anything, but I don’t see the point. It’s just food.” Catra stated, tapping her claws to the counter. His eyes followed the motions. “Where I’m from, it doesn’t matter what the taste is. As long as it sustains you for what you’re doing, then it’s good food.” 

Lance debated this, and tapped his chin to his finger. It made sense that a horde soldier didn’t understand the beauty in the art of food, since they were all probably raised with tasteless food rations and protein shakes. He shuddered at the thought. And really, out of all the things it was just detestable to never have, a good tikki masala was on the top of Lance’s list. He wouldn't deprive even his worst enemy, it was too evil. “That’s certainly a valid way of seeing it, I suppose. But,” His eyes twinkled as he thought up of a challenge. “That just means you haven’t had my cooking yet. But I’m sure once you taste what I have to offer, you’ll change your mind.” 

“Oh?” Catra cocked her eyebrows up, seeming to pick up what Lance was laying down. “I’m not so sure about that old man. You could just be biased.”    
“Old man?” Lance whined, frowning. “I’m forty seven!” 

“Old,” Catra repeated, seeming to relish in the way Lance squirmed at the word. “And your taste buds don’t really evolve much around that age. I would know. Weaver, my... this woman I knew, rarely ate anything but oatmeal for each course. She’d hardly touch anything else, even the stuff that was a thousand times better. I’d rather blend all my ration bars together than eat that maggot infested crap,” Catra leaned over and made mocked a vomiting noise, smiling a little. 

“It sounds to me your mom was just stubborn!” Lance laughed, slapping a hand on Catra’s shoulder. In an instant Catra froze up again, like she had in the hallway. Lance only realized his mistake just as she shook underneath his touch. Without a word, she reached over to Lance’s hand which was gradually pulling away, before she dug her claws into his wrist. Her grip was iron tight.

“Hands  _ off _ ,” She hissed, making a show of her sharp canines. She threw his wrist backwards, sending Lance’s back straight into the cabinet behind them.

‘I didn’t mean to, I recognized you didn’t like to be touched so I shouldn’t have’ was on the tip of Lance’s tongue but Catra beat him to it. 

“ She wasn’t my mom. She….she never could be.” Oh. Well, that hadn’t been what Lance had been thinking about at all, but... Whatever allusive ‘she’ Catra was talking about had clearly done some damage. She was nearly in tears just by talking about her. But she didn’t let the droplets fall, just sucked in her breathe and stared at the ceiling. He shouldn’t have assumed. He felt he would be doing this a lot with Catra.

“Listen, Catra, I’m sorry-,” He blinked, pulling his hands back and shoving them into his pockets. In an instant Catra was in front of him again, and she grabbed at his collar. For how small she was compared to him, she lifted him off the ground like it was nothing. He felt his feet leave the ground. 

“Whatever you were about to say, can it. If you want to play the pity game, you can, but I won’t play into it. I don’t need it, okay? You’re already making me feel like shit for being a waste of space here in your expensive and shiny ass house, so I don’t need you to cry over whatever fabricated sob story you’ve come up with for me either. If I don’t talk about your dead kid you don’t get to talk about my-,” Catra’s voice broke, “my home.” An extended claw scraped over his neck just gently enough for him to realize it was there. 

But Lance wasn’t terrified. He should have been, probably, but he wasn’t. Because he just looked down and saw a scared little kid, puffing her chest up at him while her tail flung back and forth angrily at her sides. But it wasn’t pity that he was feeling, just a sadness that he couldn’t explain. 

“Catra-,”

“Dad?” 

Catra’s head whipped around almost as fast as Lance’s did. The floor creaked as someone stepped into view, who looked like a mini-George who just combed little sections of his hair than keeping up with a full on clean-cut style. And younger by half as many years. 20.

It was Gil who stood in the doorway covered in smoke and ash. His curls blasted off the side of his face, covered in that same char that coated his clothes and skin. The only part of him that wasn’t covered was a small sliver of his face, where he had clearly been wearing goggles. 

“Um.” He trailed on, dumbly. His eyes were wide as he stared straight at Catra, who only stared back. Without even glancing so much in Lance’s direction, she set him back down. He let out a breathe he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Hi sweetheart, what’s up?” Lance grinned nonchalantly, coughing a little bit into the palm of his hand. Catra remained frozen beside him. 

“I,” Gil still stared at Catra. She looked trapped, almost, under his gaze, like if she moved she would die on spot. Lance made the wise decision of stepping between them, shielding Catra from his son in the most obtuse and obvious way possible. Thank god Gil didn’t point it out. “...Blew up my bike. I was just wondering if you put the wipes anywhere new.”

“Oh! Easy, they’re in the same place as always!” 

“Under the bathroom sink?”   
“Yeah?”

“I already looked, wasn’t there. Did Pop move them?”

“He might’ve, I’d go ask-,”

“Right now? Can’t I meet our newest house guest?” ‘Newest house guest’ was said in a little on-the-spot sing-song voice, and Lance heard Catra mock-gag behind him. Not the best introduction for them to meet. But, they could work with this. Just not right now. He needed to talk to Catra, on their own. 

“Gil,” Lance used the softest voice he could, smile a little thin. “Not the time.” 

His son, in response, just stared. 

“What? I didn’t do anything,” He snapped, crossing his arms, but Lance was already pushing him out of the door. “Daaaaa-,” The door slammed shut. 

Lance wiped a bead of sweat of his forehead.

“Listen, I’m sorry about that-. I’m not sure if George has talked to him yet, but if so I’ll make sure he doesn’t run around trying to bother you,” He sighed, focusing his attention back on Catra. She was still pulling that face where she looked like she had been backed into a corner, which tugged at Lance’s tired heart strings more than they had any right to. “And I’m sorry about assuming. I don’t know your past, and it was rude of me to assert myself into a topic you’re clearly uncomfortable with.” There wasn’t anything he could give to her as a peace offering except maybe his puppy eyes(which, by the way, always worked on George) that he was sure she would hate, so instead, he just stayed open in heart and mind.

Her blue and yellow eyes trailed down his frame, back up straight to Lance’s head. Her stare was almost unnerving, but he’d gotten that stare from her every single time he did anything as kind as opening the door for her. So he just stared back, a smile on his face, hoping she wouldn’t run away from the chance to make ammends. 

“Whateverrrrr,” She groaned. Catra slumped over onto the kitchen isle, faux-bored. She poked at the utensils that hung from one of the drying racks, blushing with shame. “I couldn’t care less.”

“Of course-” Lance agreed quickly, jumping up only for Catra to glare at him.

“And I guess…. I’m sorry too. I was really being a prick.” Catra finished, shaking a little bit. Her ears dropped like she was incredibly vulnerable. And maybe in that moment she really was. 

Part of Lance was overjoyed! It was just a simple apology, but it made him feel light-headed! There was an urge to just lean over and pat Catra on the head, but that would probably just bring them back to square one so he resisted. Instead, he beamed and chose to bounce on the balls of his feet. This of course earned him Catra’s confusion but he didn’t try to hide it. She was opening up to him! But she was still uncomfortable though, he saw through the playful guise. Clearly her family and home was definitely something he didn’t have the jurisdiction to bring up just yet. 

“No, you weren’t! It may have surprised me that you were strong enough to lift me up,” -she scoffed at that,- “But I understand where you’re coming from, and I appreciate your openness! Thank you for being so patient with this silly old man.”

“Not old,” Catra corrected. “Forty seven.”

There was a small smile on her face now too, and she gingerly seemed to relax against the isle. However small it was, it had been enough to be worth it to Lance, even after the initial awkwardness and confrontational aspect of it all.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst house tour he had ever given.

…...

The covers are warm as Lance slides into the comforters that were heated by George’s warmth. It wasn’t really bedtime yet, but Lance always did better when he and George had a calm down period before actually going to sleep. Earlier he had thought that sleep wouldn’t come easy, given his nerves and worry over the kids and Catra, but that same relentless gut feeling wasn’t sitting with him right now. Part of it was knowing all the kids, including Catra, were in their rooms taking part in downtime. Part of it was lying right next to him, hand placed on Lance’s hip smiling softly with crumbs from dinner in his mustache and mussed hair. 

“How was your day?” George whispered tenderly, eyes already half-closed as he rested his head on the wooden bedframe. Tonight he was wearing his ridiculous rubber-ducky patterned onesie, with the matching nightcap. If it was anyone else Lance probably would’ve laughed them out of the bedroom, but his husband’s taste in the most obnoxious nightwear only made him all the more endearing. 

“All in all,” Lance punctuated his words with a kiss to the sides of George’s face. “It was decent! After the house tour I sent Catra to her room with dinner and I didn’t have to stress over it. I think she didn’t eat in front of me because she didn’t want to admit how good my cooking was.” At this, George laughed, snuggling into the crook of Lance’s neck. The sensation of it was ticklish but familiarly comforting. Lance continued as he ran a hand through George’s hair. “I got more translating in for the runes on the dagger, I rearranged some of my stuff in the study…. aaaand, what else? Oh! I went out and checked on the garden and everything’s all in order. I think we’re going to get some pretty cucumbers this year.” 

“That’s nice.” George stretched out beside him, sinking into his pillow. Lance was quick to follow. “It’s such a lovely thing to see you in a good mood.” 

“Happy husband, happy life,” Lance murmured in agreement.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

“Mm, doesn’t matter, it’s true.”

“I guess you’re right. Your smile is always makes my day, so it’d just make more sense to keep you happy.” George crooned. If Lance wasn’t already deeply in love with the man who laid beside him, he thought he would’ve gotten down on one knee right there on the bed and proposed to him again.

“Well?”

“Hm?” George craned his neck to meet Lance’s gaze.

“How was your day?” 

“Pretty much the same. I haven’t gotten anywhere with that alternate dream reality thing we saw, so my research time was thoroughly wasted. Though I think it’s She-Ra related, so I’m going to give it up until we talk with Adora again. “I did my morning jog, all the stuff you know I do. Not much else. Except…” George bit his lip. Looking up at Lance between his eyelashes, he frowned just a little bit.

“What is it my love?” 

“Catra.”

Lance’s heart dropped. Did he figure out she was Horde? Did he know Lance knew? Was he going to blow up and kick her out of the house purely based on that? 

A lump formed in his throat that he forced down.

“What of her?” 

“Gil told me about what he saw in the kitchen. With her threatening you.”

“Oh….and? What about it?”

“Lance.” George pouted without even moving, “Don’t play dumb like that. If she’s of any harm to you, you’ll tell me about it, right?” 

“Obviously.”

“Then...why didn’t you today?”

“George-,” He inhaled deeply, taking his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand then. “I just….don’t want you to make another quick judgement. It wasn’t a problem, really.”

“If she was hurting you then it certainly was.”

“But she wasn’t-,”

“Gil said she had her claws to your throat,” George sat up, looking down at Lance with concern etched into his features. “Sweetheart, beleive me, I know how much you’d hate to leave her to fend for herself. But….I need you to make me a promise, is that alright?”

As if he even needed to answer. It was always a resounding yes. He nodded despite himself. 

“If she….gets to you. If Catra crosses a line that she can’t go back on, we can’t keep her here. For my sake and your own. Do you promise?”

“George, I,” His words stick to the back of his throat like syrup, and trying to grab them feels like trying to stick his hand into his mouth while he talks. “I can’t just turn on her the moment something goes wrong-,”   
“That’s not what I meant.” George slips his hand into Lance’s, gripping on tight. As much as Lance’s head feels like floating from the conversation, it instantly grounds him. He has enough sense to bring their intertwined fingers together and kiss his knuckles.

“I know.” 

“Then will you promise me?”

“George….I don’t know. It feels like….I’m responsible for her somehow. I just…,”   
“She isn’t Jean, Lance.” Whatever state of normal Lance had been brought down to shot up in the air and far away. It wasn’t enough to send him into a full on panic attack, but it felt like something had gone down the wrong pipe. George squeezed his hand again, brought him back again. “....I know that you don’t see it like that, but she’s not your fix up project. It’s going to take time, and you can’t let it weigh down on you that she doesn’t instantly get better, Lance. We can help her together. Because you aren’t alone in this, I want to help her too. I just want to make sure that you take care of yourself before you throw your all at Catra.” 

“You see it though, right?” Lance whispered, tracing a finger across George’s shoulder, suddenly more quiet. “She’s alone. She doesn’t have a family. George, I….,” He hesitates again like he has something he should say but can’t. “You should just listen to how she speaks. About herself, and about her home. I don’t want-, I won’t let her feel that. Not if she’s under our house, George.”

“Of course,” He muttered, knocking their foreheads together. “As long as she’s here, she’s one of our own. You’ll promise, right?”

“Yes. I promise, George, I swear it.” Finally agreeing oddly puts a smile on Lance’s face, and when he goes to hold his face he just barely registers the wet streams that came from his eyes. “Just thank you ...thank you.”

“No need to thank me for something we both agreed to,” George grinned his own tired grin, and leaned over to turn the light off. “For now, let’s both just get some rest. I think we earned it.” 

“Yeah…Good night.,” Lance laid back down in his pillows, heart feeling light. He couldn’t see George move in the dark, but he heard him shift until he felt George’s head settle on Lance’s shoulder. “And George?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah the word document i'm writing this on hates me.   
if you liked this, please let me know in the comments. the ones i've gotten so far are really cute and have spurred me on to write more!!! it's a pretty awesome feedback loop. the more you guys talk to me about this, the more i'm able to write about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh wounds... weren't something Catra was ready to lick clean. Especially the giant metaphorical gash Shadow Weaver had left on her entire body. Or, ironically enough, the real scars she had left alive on Catra’s forehead. Reliving the memories she had of the Horde were enough pain on their own, addressing new pains was out of the question. She reached for her mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IM SORRY IM LATE BUT ITS MY BIRTHDAY BE NICE  
It's shorter than I wanted but for the time being this will work!!!  
Also child abuse tw for this chapter, starts and ends with the italic memories section.

The room Catra was in had a mirror. It had a lot of things, of course, but the reason it stood out even amongst a thousand tiny decorative paper cranes and drawings was that Catra had been startled by her  _ own _ reflection. Hard enough to trip over herself. 

When did she start looking like that? 

Stalking back up the mirror version of herself, it was hard not to cringe. She looked ...softer.  _ Weaker _ , a voice that sounded awfully like Hordak whispered. But she didn’t think that was it. 

Catra’s eyes were droopy, the harsh cringe that punctuated her eyebrows and frown much less noticeable than ever before. Her freckles had faded under her skin and she looked pale. Whether it was from exhaustion or rest in an actual home was up for debate. And there was her hair. 

Parts of her mane fanned out from her like it was fluffy, most strands curlier than she had ever seen her hair before. It wasn’t coarse from the dirt and grime she was familiar with in the Horde-just healthy with natural oils. It might have had something to do with the bathroom that Catra got to take a shower in that night. 

Lance had showed her exactly how to get the right temperature, and then how to lessen the pressure so that Catra’s fur wouldn’t be pelted straight off her and into the drain. It had been painfully considerate of him to take her magicat-ness into account with that sort of thing, or maybe just a form of kindness that was new to Catra. Back in the Fright Zone her and Rogeolio had to suffer together over nothing being situated for anyone non-human, which caused a lot of problems. Problems like being temperature sensitivity, specific digestive tracts and meals, learning respective scale and fur care all on their own, and even just general habits. She was hesitant to admit she still remembered their teething phases that lasted longer than any of the other kids’, and Lonnie teasing the two of them for not being able to control their more animal-like instincts. Her gentle bullying was certainly something Catra didn’t miss. But that wasn’t the point.

Her hair was likely curlier because of the shower, for what she assumed was her own fault. The shower itself had built-in shelves with thousands of different hair products and soaps for all the different lengths, thicknesses, and styles of hair. The sort of childish instinct that made Catra chase rats and upturn skiffs urged her into trying all of them. Well, at least the ones that smelled nice. Which to her  _ were _ all of them. She regrettably noted, after stepping out of the shower, they didn’t smell nice all together.

The curls were different...but they looked nice. Part of her wondered if her hair was always meant to look like that and she just hadn’t gotten the proper treatment in the Fright Zone. Yeah, big shocker. But what made hair curly? Catra pondered this as she tugged softly down on a strand. It bounced right back into a coil. It felt nice between her claws, though it caught on her headpiece.

Her headpiece. The dark red accessory that sat and shielded her forehead from the rest of the world. Catra’s fingers made their way to grip the sides, pulling it tight. The only times she had ever taken it off since she had gotten it had been for necessity. 

Maybe, now that there was no one who would see, Catra could take it off. It wouldn’t matter, it wasn’t relevant to anyone but herself anyways. So she pulled it off her face, setting it gently on the countertop next to one of the origami cranes she yanked from the ceiling earlier. 

The little gasp she let out was met with an anticlimactic sight. It was only an item, but she felt bare without it on her head. Her reflection blinked back at Catra in the mirror, now without her headpiece but with bangs. They fell down her face in a rush, like they were letting out the longest breathe they had ever held. Jeez, how long had it been since she cut them? They damn near blinded her- she couldn’t see past any of it, and Catra grabbed at the dark brown mass. Pulling it all away from her forehead, her eyes caught onto something just by her temple that she hadn’t thought about it years.

A scar. A discolored, vile thing that Catra had been trying to avoid looking at for years. 

_ “What is it, child?” Shadow Weaver called, even though Catra hadn’t stepped through the doorway.  _

_ “Weaver! I’m sorry to wake you at such a time, I didn’t really know if you were awake or not so-,” _

_ “Don’t stammer, it is a waste of my time, cadet.” She turned and regarded her for a moment, eyeing Catra up and down. Then she went back to the loads of paperwork she had on her desk. “What troubles you?”  _

_ “I’m not troubled, old woman.” _

_ “Spare the lies. I can see it on your face.”  _

_ “I,” Catra blanked. Sleep made her transparent but Shadow Weaver being able to read her was never a good thing. Especially when she felt like this. In reality the truth Catra held might not have been appealing to Shadow Weaver as any honesty with that woman posed a threat. She would have to tread lightly. “I had a nightmare.” _

_ “What of it?” Shadow Weaver’s hair twirled around her as she worked. The tendrils whirled about in a way that reminded Catra of a storm. The sight was hard to resist staring at but she had to answer her or she would be thrown out of the room soon for not paying attention. She knew that much from experience.  _

_ “Adora didn’t know who I was, in the dream. No one in the squadron did.” But there was more to it than that. In her dreamscape she had ran through the entire Fright Zone looking for someone who remembered, someone who cared, but no one had. Dream Shadow Weaver had stared down at her without ever responding. Hordak’s glowing red eyes had followed her everywhere, and when she came to him he simply told her she was of no use to him anymore. _

_ It had been odd since Catra had only been forced to interact with him during the times he had bothered to inspect the Force Captains- but out of everyone his words had hurt the most. And then she woke up with tears. Luckily Adora hadn’t woken up, or if she had, she knew not to reach out.  _

_ “To worry about such trivial things only shows weakness Catra, you mustn't fret over false images that you are responsible for making-,” _

_ “But that’s not how-,” _

_ “Do not interrupt. You aren’t delicate. I have taught you how to take care of yourself.” No. She had just taught Catra how to protect herself from Shadow Weaver. Those were two very different things. “If you break, that is a reflection of my raising you. And you won’t ruin my reputation because you cannot resist weakness, do you understand?”  _

_ “I’m not being weak. I-I just couldn’t get back to sleep.” _

_ “And why are you here?” _

_ “Just wanted some company.” Catra crossed her arms, feeling her defense-mode rise in the back of her throat. Her next words came out dangerously snarky. “Is that alright with you?” _ _   
_ _ “If that is the case I must put you to work, you have to be useful if you cannot rest.” Shadow Weaver took a handful of papers off the giant pile she had in front of her and put them on the empty space to her immediate right. Once she had, she looked at Catra expectantly.  _

_ “Is that what you’re doing?” She could tell Shadow Weaver was nearly raising an eyebrow behind her mask, so she elaborated. “Being useful?”  _

_ “I have responsibilities you cannot fathom, child. I do not get to laze about.” She sighed and watched with a careful glance as Catra sat down next to her.  _

_ “Yeah, because being a miserable underling in the Fright Zone is way better,” Catra gingerly pawed at the papers, unsure of how to work over them. She glanced over at Shadow Weaver to see if she could pick up at least the general idea from her, but the woman was instantly back to working at her frantic pace. Her pen tore across the pages in signing and dotting all of the necessary signs and dots but her handwriting has clearly suffered because of it.  _

_ “You only say that because you slack off. Cadet life would treat you well if you weren’t flippant with your duties and training.”  _

_ “Pshaw. Like going to all of that would help. It’s a big dickwagging contest to see who can get the best training times and sucking up to Hordak. And I’m good at it, but you-the others don’t care. So why don’t I get to enjoy my freedoms while I have them?” _

_ Shadow Weaver turned sharply, her pen dragging to a stop on the paper. Catra only noticed after she began to stare. When they met each other’s eyes, something flared in the back of Catra’s throat. This wasn’t a good idea. She broke away from the faux staring match.  _

_ “You think you can get through life doing the bare minimum and sit at Adora’s side like a lapdog. It won’t be that simple.” Shadow Weaver hummed something softly, and tilted her head sideways. Even she wasn’t looking, Catra could feel her cold and calculating gaze, wondering if that look had become deserved. Dull grey fingers reached out and gripped at Catra’s chin, forcing her head back in Shadow Weaver’s direction. “Someone has to teach you, and I’ve been appointed that duty. You may detest me all you want but I protect you from the world because you mean something to Adora. If your friendship even slips the slightest, I won’t have a problem getting rid of one of my biggest chores.”  _

_ Shadow Weaver gripped harder onto her chin, enough to feel suffocating. “Do you understand?” _

_ “Jeez, old woman,” She huffed despite her feeling short of breath. The bubble of air that she gulped down her throat struggled against the pressure Shadow Weaver applied there. Leaning back Catra didn’t dare to break free, but directed her eyes to the ceiling. “I speak my mind once and you go right back to fighting with me.”  _

_ “I asked you if you understood, not if you were exasperated.”  _

_ “Wasn’t my answer not enough? Oh wait that’s probably a trick question for you. Nothing is ever enough with you, is it?” A chuckle escaped Catra but it sounded much more confident than she felt. The muscle beneath her skin felt like it was drifting from her bone but the shaking of her ears and tail grounded her in the fear pooling at the bottom of Catra’s stomach. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” _

_ “Catra.”  _

_ “What?”  _

_ “You haven’t been useful this entire time. You are only being a distraction. Say you understand, or get out of my sight. ”Shadow Weaver’s nails dug down and for some reason it made Catra laugh even more. Laugh herself into hiccups whcich were loud enough to wake the entire Fright Zone. Certainly loud enough to irritate Shadow Weaver who emitted something vile and poisonous.  _

_ “Of course I don’t understand! I do everything you ask, always, always. But I never get to outshine Adora because you’d kill me for it. How the hell am I supposed to understand that?” She bit down, pushing weakly at Shadow Weaver’s sleeve. Distantly she was aware of Shadow Weaver’s magic flickering at her feet and being lifted into the air, but the only thing that was of focus to Catra was Shadow Weaver’s hands moving up and gripping at her hair. She tugged and her nails found their way at Catra’s forehead and scalp. Her dark magic held on even more lightning sharp. Strong enough to burn.  _

_ “You ungrateful brat,” Shadow Weaver hissed. “I have molded you into the best you could ever be, but you refuse to accept my influence. Ungrateful, awful thing. I’m sure Hordak would be pleased to hear I got rid of an urchin as draining as you. If I was so inclined I could kill you now.”  _

_ The air smelled like iron and a warm liquid seeped down Catra’s forehead to her eyelids. It colored her vision in gaudy red and explained away the white-hot that seared down her temple. Each scratch to her head weakened Catra’s bond to consciousness. In front of her Shadow Weaver’s mask blurred. Nothing stayed in it’s outlines, duplicates swimming in her vision. And every sound was faraway, even her own gasps and sobs. _

_ She was underwater but not, drowning but not given the relief of dying from suffocation.  _

_ The scratching only stopped after Catra’s vision went dark, yet the ache continued to throb.  _

_ “Now, do you understand?”  _

_ “I understand, I understand, I  _ understand!” Catra screamed, jolting herself awake. 

When Catra opened her eyes, she was back in George and Lance’s home. Not in the farthest reaches of her mind where shadows crawled, but in reality. Right in front of the mirror.

The mirror. It was like a glitch. Cracks in the mirror that weren’t actually there, but everywhere in Catra’s line of sight. Things flickered in and out of the room but not things that she could look at directly-like a creature lurking behind her that never revealed itself. It could all likely be reasoned away, Catra knew. Mere residue of the portal slipping from her head into her reality, just like her everlasting headaches. 

But ...If she squinted just right, the mirror would reflect something else. 

Black consuming half of her body. A twitching pulse-like white filling in the cracks between the black and her actual body, one area across her chest full of white gaps that nearly looked like an angry, gaping mouth. And her face…. her blue eye wasn’t blue anymore but instead a dark grey with only a small white slit for her pupil. 

Pressing her hand over the half of her face that went unblackened, she almost expected her hand to fall through the glass and shatter around her like the blaring white on her chest. Instead, half of her was covered, leaving only the dark and ugly ghost she distantly remembered as herself. 

Shadow Weaver’s unmasked, scarred face resurfaced into Catra’s consciousness as she stared down the corrupted person looking back at her. Whatever comparison there was to be made was quickly discarded as she ripped herself completely away from the mirror. 

Fresh wounds... weren't something Catra was ready to lick clean. Especially the giant metaphorical gash Shadow Weaver had left on her entire body. Or, ironically enough, the real scars she had left alive on Catra’s forehead. Reliving the memories she had of the Horde were enough pain on their own, addressing new pains was out of the question. She reached for her mask.

Pulling the headpiece back onto her forehead certainly didn’t comfort her but the familiarity of it’s weight appropriately grounded her. 

It wasn’t her only remaining tie to the Horde, she had far too many to ever really escape, but it was a significant one. Everything that Shadow Weaver conditioned her to be, everything Adora wasn’t, everything Catra had chosen to do in order to be worth something to anyone, it was here among her fucked up sense of pride. Fitting how it hid her most noticeable scar. 

Like her damaged pride, hiding the incredibly damaged bit of flesh wasn’t because she wanted to keep the nasty sight from other people. It was for Catra. Because who wanted to remind themselves every day how much the person they wanted respect from the most hated them? It would be best for Catra to forget. Out of sight out of mind.

But that was bullshit.

She didn’t have the right to forget about  _ anything _ . There were consequences for forgetting, and such consequences were her past clawing at her and dragging her back into the echoing casm of stupid memories her brain wanted to badly to hold onto. 

Forgetting it would be letting go. If it wasn’t obvious that sort of thing didn’t come easy to Catra. If she let go of all that had transpired, all of what she went through, it would mean admitting what happened to her in the Horde was really for nothing. She didn’t suffer through all those years of belittlement and being literally beaten down just to fade from the Horde entirely. What a sick joke that would be. She’d be exactly like Shadow Weaver, or even worse, Adora. 

So Catra wouldn’t let go. At least, not tonight. It would cost her a night’s worth of sleep, but save her from an issue she didn’t have the capacity to handle. She’d hold on. 

….

It was nice having a girl in the house again, although not for the incredibly sexist reasons that some people liked having girls around for. For George, it was more just of a noted aspect to having Catra around, grumpy as she may be. Ever since Bow had come out, they’d had to pack up all of his pre-transition clothes and photos, and none of his other kids really went to him for outfit advice anymore. They said they didn’t want an old man to dress them in something outdated, although George thought of himself as fairly modern and chic. Style-wise, at least. 

Now, as they sat in Tyler’s room on the bed, Catra deadpanned at the array of clothes in front of them. In her lap sat Monkey, who purred happily as she pet him cautiously.

“If you’re going to stay here, you should have more than one outfit,” He had explained but Catra still looked small as she stared at the pile of pants, dresses, skirts, and shirts. Part of him assumed it was just overwhelming for her to have so many options. 

“You didn’t go out of your way to buy these did you?” When she finally looked up her yellow and blue eyes were intense and maybe just a little vunerable. 

“Oh, no, these were just lying around.” That didn’t seem to comfort her, in fact she looked a little more uptight.

“Lying around…?” 

Oh. He suddenly remembered back what Lance had told him about their time together in the study, and straightened. 

“These aren’t Jean’s, so please don’t refuse them on that basis.” He stated, patting down a fluffy sweater with a billion pattern hearts. She scrunched her nose at that. “They’re my youngest’s, and he’s outgrown them.”

“Oh.” Catra was less tense now and she pulled a disgusted face. Her claw prodded at the sweater Lance had patted earlier. “These aren’t really...my style.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” He hummed to himself, looking them over. And it did, really. Catra looked like the type who stuck to more dark and dull colors, but all of Bow’s stuff was either bright neon or extremely cutesy, even to this day. They didn’t really have any other clothes though, and Catra would absolutely throw a fit if they tried to be any more hospitable than they had been. That much had been proven already when she nearly clawed his eyes out for suggesting they get her temporary personalized decorations to make Ty’s room a little more homey. Would she be upset if he put effort in to dye Bow’s clothes, or would that be genuinely appreciated, George pondered. Tapping a finger to his chin, he let himself get lost in his train of thought.

“Um, do you have any leather jackets maybe?” Catra mumbled, almost too softly to hear. 

“Leather jackets?” George blanked. Did they have that sort of thing? It sounded familiar, like something they used to have but might not anymore. Maybe from a trip Lance went on, or memorabilia from one period of their lives…. 

“Gods, of course we do!” How could have forgotten? From Gil’s more questionable fashion phases, where he used gels to style his hair up into points and stud every inch of clothing he could. Very punk, or maybe very emo. He hadn’t been able to tune in fully when Tyler jumped in and helped ramble about the difference. “But-um, those belong to Gil. We’d have to go talk to him about it, if only you’re comfortable with it.” 

Catra blinked and turned her head down towards Monkey. He stared back up questioningly, as if asking her if she needed anything. God, George loved that old cat. 

“I don’t care. Just do whatever is easier for you.” Catra had a habit of muttering her words into her palms, but it still came out loud and clear. It probably would have just been easier to send her off with Bow’s old clothes, but George had heard the curiosity and hopefulness in her voice. And well, he loved indulging in simple things like clothes and who was he to strip Catra of the same comfort. 

“Alright. Let’s pack all this back into the box, and we can head out to his room together!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to meet the fuckin boys, also yes monkey is my cat in real life but he deserves to be there


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s always your choice.”  
Catra knew that. Ever since she had stepped foot into their house, it had always been her choice. She never had to put herself into danger, and really that was because there was no danger to fling herself into. This situation was no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I late with this chapter? Yes. Do I have a valid reason for that? Also yes. Did I face extreme burnout out one point because I focused writing a scene far away in a much later chapter? Double also yes. But I don't want to bore you in unrelated details for this fic, other than that I had a hard time trying to properly write the characterization for Bow's brothers. But! I did it. And here we are. Please enjoy, and scream at me if you did or didn't. Either way, I love you thank you for reading my garbage dumpster fire.

George offered his hand to Catra when they made their way down the hallways, and like how Lance made irresistible puppy eyes that were hard to refuse, George’s subtle but kind prompting was just as hard to turn down.

So Catra was holding his hand as he guided her to Gil’s room, like she was a little kid who’d wander off on their own if unsupervised. In an odd way it was comforting if not a little embarrassing. As soon as they stopped outside of the door, Catra tore her hand away. If George picked up on her being flustered he didn’t comment on it. 

“Ahem!” He announced, knocking gently onto the door. “Gil, are you there?” 

“What’s up Dad?” A voice rung out. 

“I’m coming in!” George turned to Catra and gave her a curt smile, then turned back to the door. He palmed at the handle for a second like he was going to open it, then hesitated. “There won’t be one of your Rube Goldberg cycles coming out of the blue to ambush us will there?” 

“Rube Goldberg  _ machines _ ,” the same voice corrected. “And you know how they work, if it sets off a trap it takes so much time that you’d just have to step out of the way and you’d be fine.” 

“Is that a yes or a no, Gil? I don’t want a repeat of last times’ fire-hazard..”

“That was only the one time.” A brief pause, then, the floorboards creaked as they shuffled towards the entrance.

A series of clicks and whirs came to life behind the door. Then came the final gear shifting back into a satisfying pop, signifying the last precautionary lock being undone. At least, that’s what Catra assumed what was being done by all the rather metallic noise on top of frantic movement she spotted at her feet. The movement was nothing more than the shadow of ‘Gil’ making its way through the small sliver between door and ground, but the sight of a cloudy silhouette did wonders at making Catra flinch. 

“You’re safe,” Gil muttered, which was more than ironic to Catra. “You can come in now.”

George huffed with his eyebrows knitted tight together. He took a rather dramatic moment for himself to rub at his temple and sigh before he finally tugged the door open.

Whatever dull alarm bell that had been going off in Catra’s brain before shot to the forefront of her mind like a submerging siren. Her feet burned to move and on pure instinct she jumped back behind George. Although it was weak, the idea of becoming as small as possible seemed like the only thing Catra had ever wanted in the world. 

Bottom line was that she was  _ not _ going to be the first one to enter a room full of new people. Or really be the first one to enter a room at all, but this was even more dangerous than the latter situation. At least, in Catra’s brain it was. 

George seemed to understand this well enough though and didn’t question it. In fact, he puffed his chest out a little more so that she could take a little more comfort in being hidden behind him. If Catra had the capacity to say thank you, she wouldn’t have been given a chance anyways because immediately as the door was open a face sprung right into Catra’s personal bubble.

That face was the one who had caught Catra when she had been threatening Lance, the boy with smeared ash and dust across his face. Gil, this was Gil. Gil, the one who had clothes George assumed she would like. 

“Hi!” He practically beamed. Gil still had soot and ash covering his clothes, as well as the ridiculously stupid-over-sized goggles from before. But he looked less hazardous, like whatever had blown up in his face was cleaned up now. 

From the looks of it he was some sort of nerdy engineer-librarian hybrid. He even made Rube Goldberg machines. Catra didn’t know exactly what those were, but if it was any sort of invention type thing then it qualified as nerdy in her head, like Entrapta. A mega nerd. 

“Hey Dad, and, uh.” He smiled such a big smile Catra could see he had incredibly sharp incisors for a human. But despite his warm smile his eyes still gave away his confusion. Gil leaned down and shifted his glance from his father back to his guest over and over like he was trying to find the connection that linked the two together. “Catra, was it?” 

“No, I’m just a random person staring at you in your own house for the hell of it. Duh, I’m Catra.” She bit down on each individual word sharply, smiling all the more dangerously when Gil pulled a face and leaned back a little. “You Gilbert?” 

“Uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s me. But you don’t really have to say my whole name. Everyone calls me Gill, it’s easier. But uh, hey. What’s up?” Gilbert turned to his dad and leaned against the doorway. 

“Well, Catra here, as you all know, is our guest. But she only has the one outfit.”

Gil blinked dumbly at George as if he hadn’t processed the information at all, and turned to look at his room for a minute before once again regarding Catra and George. The latter of the two coughed into his hand. 

“What I mean to ask is...well. Do you still have all of your old outfits, dear boy? The things with the studs and the dark colors?” 

“Oh!” Gil beamed, focusing in on Catra. “Yeah, yeah I do!” He shuffled away from the door to make room for Catra and George. While they trailed behind him he kicked away all sorts of blueprints and clothes to clear a path from the messy floor. And god, was the room messy.

Posters and scribbled papers hung lopsided on the walls, with the areas that weren’t covered in notes having wall shelving piled with books and books and books- all on science and technology. 

The bottom half of a hammer stuck out from a giant cavity in the ceiling, the other half Catra assumed was thrown up in. When George caught on to her staring he took a moment to look up too before sighing, which caught Gil’s attention. 

“Failed experiment,” Gil stated lamely as he rubbed his neck again. “It’s so wedged in there that I can’t get it out.” He went right back to what he was doing, running through the tiny space to get to what looked like a closet. When Catra let her eyes wander, she realized it wasn’t just the three of them.

In the corner, two other boys sat situated on a bunk bed. They both sat propped up against the opposite sides, and between them sat an unfinished puzzle. Pieces were haphazardly thrown across the covers, some nearly falling off and a large chunk already thrown onto the ground where they were obscured by the rest of the mess. How on earth were they planning to finish it if they lost all of the pieces? 

“Hello!” One of them shouted, this one seeming to notice Catra was staring. 

He had a buzzed head, and the same sort of warm brown skin as the rest of his family. He likely only around twenty, but he had the physique of a prime Horde soldier who had done nothing but seven and a half years of straight cardio. He was extremely well built, and looked like he could crush Catra as easily as Scorpia could’ve. But out of everything his eyes were a gentle seafoam green which stuck out from the rest of his big bulky exterior. And he was dopey, sitting criss-cross and crouched between the bunk bed’s frame. Not intimidating in the slightest as he watched Catra, his father, and Gil walk through the room. He waved excitedly, and pointed to himself as he exclaimed, “I’m Baker!” 

Next to Baker was a boy who looked a little older, sitting up against the wall with his legs tucked under him. He had large circular glasses and his curls back into a bun so tight it looked like it hurt. 

Unlike his clearly uninterested brother he was working at light-speed on the puzzle, fingers inspecting pieces and shuffling them off into similar looking piles. He hadn’t even looked up since her and George had walked in. It was only when Baker playfully punched his arm that he set down the puzzle to watch the unfolding situation. 

Her nose scrunched up at the feeling of eyes on her, tail curling in on itself around her legs. Pretending to feign apathy, she let her eyes wander back to Gil as she picked at her skin. 

Gil had been busy sorting through his closet, apparently. In the brief instance she looked away he had thrown countless boxes and packages away from the closet, muttering softly about where on earth could ‘it’ be. Next to Gil was George, who was fluttering around him stacking the disregarded packages on top of each other with care. He looked up at Catra and smiled a tired smile, and went back to fixing up the mess his son was making with a scolding look adorning his features. 

“A-ha!” Gil exclaimed suddenly, pumping his fists into the air. “Here it is!”He squatted down and pulled on what looked like a box buried between a tower of other clusters of boxes and packed away storage. God, he was going to make it fall over.

Part of her wanted to come up behind him so she could push him out of harm’s way from the clearly impending knock-out he was going to bring upon himself, but she kept her distance. “Wait, Gil-,” George huffed but before he could properly warn him Gil was already wriggling the box free. The three other cases that had been resting on top of it toppled down. 

Baker was on his feet in an instant and in three big steps was right behind Gil. As they fell Baker caught each with ease despite how heavy they all looked, not even showing a single sign of the weight being difficult to carry. When Gil glanced up with an incredulous look on his face, Baker grinned and patted down Gil’s hair. He set the boxes by the pile George had made, gave everyone a thumbs’ up, and went back to his spot on the bunk bed. 

Catra instantly decided on the spot she liked him. 

As for his brothers though….

Gil sprouted up and dusted himself off like nothing had happened at all and marched straight over to his desk. George stayed where he was for a moment, massaging his temple, before he began replacing the storage back in the closet. 

“I told you these were worth keeping, Axel.” Gil said across his shoulder, propping up the box against his hip.

The other boy, who now had a name to go with his face, muttered a soft, “Worth it enough for a concussion?” At this Catra chuckled, but the remark promptly ignored as Gil slammed the box right onto the desk, loud enough to make Catra flinch and drown out the end of Axel’s words. “C’mere, Catra.”

Walking up beside Gil, Catra remembered why she and George had come here in the first place. Looking at the cardboard box labeled in red marker: DO NOT THROW OUT!,(A smaller caption scribbled under the giant capitalized warning read, in Lance’s handwriting, ‘Gil’s second phase clothes, sentimental value question mark’) her curiosity from before came back in full. Once, what was Gil’s first phase, and two did George really think her and Gil had enough in common to share clothes? If anything, he probably was more like Entrapta, who also no sense of danger and a habit of making bad decisions.

Entrapta. Who she had left to die on Beast Island the same way Hordak would’ve done to her- if Entrapta herself had not stepped in. What a cruel fucking cycle  _ that _ was. Did that put her on the same level as Hordak? As Shadow Weaver? Or maybe she was even worse, and this entire train of thinking was serving the purpose to remind her of just that.

Catra shook her head as if that would shake away the guilt that stabbed at the back of her throat. Best not to think about that right now. 

“Go ahead and do the honors,” Gil smiled, offering Catra a knife to cut open the seal on the box with. She ignored it, instead, extending a claw and ripping apart the tape with that. That seemed to pique Gil’s interest, who stared at Catra’s claw like he wanted to figure out how exactly it worked. “Oh. That works too.”

Catra didn’t say anything to that, instead, looked down at the contents of the box. Oh. Oh, this was good. Much better than the hyper-pastel throw up from before, Catra thought, as she laid out different shirts and pairs of jeans. 

It was, admittedly, the style Catra would have liked if she was allowed to have a style of her own in the Horde. Intentional rips and tears, dark colors, and subtle patterns that would top of a full outfit. Pins, buttons, and bandannas. Instinctively Catra reached for the first bandanna she saw, a pure-black cloth with a comfortable silk texture, but she quickly retracted her hand when she realized what she was doing.

“Oh, go ahead,” Gil prompted, looking pleased as punch. “You can try on any of this if you like it.” 

Catra blanked, but reached out again once she had permission. When she held the cloth in her hands, she was happy to note it felt just as soft as it looked. Stepping back for room, Catra folded it into a triangle and took two ends to tie it around her neck. She didn’t need a mirror to know it looked good, it just felt right.

She turned to Gil, trying to not sound as eager as she felt. “What else you got, Gil?” 

He looked down at the bandanna tied around her neck, and thought on it. It didn’t make her feel self-conscious now that she recognized he was probably just calculating what would look best on her, rather than judging her looks and taste.

“Let’s see….” He rummaged through the box a bit more before latching onto something. He grinned at Catra like he had just found gold. “I forgot I had this! It looks like it will fit you! Kinda goes with your headpiece too!” He held up a dark blood red leather jacket, clearly made for men, but that distinction meant nothing to Catra, who was instantly smitten. Gil recognized this, and clapped his hands together.    
“Here, put it on!” He exclaimed, jumping up to Catra and pulling his arms around her as he attempted to ‘help’ her. 

“Hey-,” George warned softly, but Catra was already pushing him away with a sharp claw and a hiss. Gil only blinked down at the hand that shoved him, and looked back at Catra. He stared for a bit too long for comfort before becoming sheepish and taking another step back. God, this family needed to work on boundaries. 

“Oh-uh, my bad. Didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” 

“Whatever, Gilbert. Just hand over the clothes.” 

He did, this time gingerly pressing the article of cloth into her hand rather than popping up to force it on her. 

“She, see likes it!” Gil insisted as soon as she slid on the jacket, despite the fact that she hadn’t even said anything about it yet.    
“Those threads were put away for a reason. It’s a shame they have to see the light,” Axel countered, crossing his arms. “She’s probably just wearing it because it’s her only option. It  _ is _ incredibly tacky.”

“Well,” Baker talked over his brothers, and rolled his eyes as they continued to argue without his input. “The best way to know would be to simply ask.” 

“Oh!” Both chimed in, then immediately claiming “Jynx!” when they realized they’d replied at the same time. Baker snorted, and Axel and Gil jumped up again, talking over each other so that they could begin to interrogate her. Thankfully she was saved from that overwhelming fate. 

“Catra, ignore those two, what do you think?” George prompted from where he had migrated to near the door, a soft smile on his face as he watched over his kids. As soon as he had said that, the room went silent. 

Four pairs of eyes landed on Catra. 

“Uh. I don’t know….” It wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t small in the way that a lot of leather jackets were- where they pinched at the most uncomfortable area but fit nice everywhere else. And it wasn’t really over sized either, but just big enough for the sleeves to hide her hands. The pressure of the leather itself was almost like a weighted blanket. Like a really good hug without having to touch anyone. It was all of those factors that maxed out the comfort, so it didn’t really matter what it looked like. Although it did smell nice, and the studs on the shoulders as well as the faded but scattered patches were an interesting little personal touch. 

She wondered what sort of patches they were from as she pulled the collar up to hide herself a little. Maybe she would ask them at a later time. “S’nice.” 

“Just nice?” Gil prodded, a hopeful and semi-smug look on his face. God, he was just close enough to hear her involuntary purring, that’s probably where the confidence came from. 

“Don’t push it, Bert,” She snapped, although there was much less bite in it that she could really muster. For some reason, that just made him smile even harder and he turned and stuck his tongue out. 

“Suck it, Axel!” 

“It looks good on her, I can admit that,” Axel looked up from the puzzle, less bored than before. Catra didn’t bother trying to hide the smirk that gave her. By all accounts he was right, it was exactly her sort of style. “Although you never did pull it off.”    
“Hey!” Gil shouted, and they went right back to bickering. This time it was hard to classify it as annoying though. Maybe just a little endearing. Only a little. 

George rolled his eyes and turned to Catra with a soft smile on his face. ‘Silly’ he mouthed, although it was just as clear to the boys as it was to Catra. Baker was the only one who noticed, and he laughed. When his brothers paused to ask why he only laughed harder, shaking his head when they prodded. 

When they calmed down a bit, George directed his gaze back at Catra. 

“Ready to go?”

“Aw what?” Gil pouted, looking at Catra. “Dad, she didn’t even get to look at all of it yet. She can’t just grab one jacket and one bandanna and leave.”    
“Yeah,” Axel agreed, although he sounded less affronted. “She can stay in here. We aren’t going to bite.” 

George opened his mouth to say more but was quickly cut off by another son.

“Well I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out with us, Catra” Baker stated honestly, “So do Axel and Gil but they weren’t gonna say it outright. I promise we aren’t boring.” 

“Uh,” She blanked lamely. Catra flushed despite herself. The prospect that people wanted to be in her company was hard to process when the people she cared about where leaving her all the time, but it was nice nonetheless. 

“Don’t let them pressure you into staying if you don’t want to,” George reminded. “It’s always your choice.”

Catra knew that. Ever since she had stepped foot into their house, it had always been her choice. She never had to put herself into danger, and really that was because there was no danger to fling herself into. This situation was no different. And, in all honesty, being around full-grown adults all the time, no matter how generous they were, was exhausting. Having people around her age to interact with was something she didn’t even realize she had missed, but she did. Based on all of that, her decision was easy.

“Well, these morons are never going to finish their puzzle without my help.” Catra agreed, “Axel hasn’t even realized the pieces he’s looking for are under the bed.”   
“Wait wha-,” Axel fumbled off the ledge of the bed and exclaimed loudly when he did, in fact, realize that was the case. His brothers snickered at his panic. 

“Oh. Are you sure?” George prompted gently, cocking his head to one side. Something akin to worry flashed in his eyes, but Catra knew it wasn’t going to be a problem. The only possible issue that came to mind was her migraines, but that would only make her just a little irritable. And she was always irritable. 

“Yeah I’m sure.” She patted him on the shoulder, trying to replicate the specific way that he did when he was trying to comfort her. But it was more awkward than anything, so she let her hand drop quickly. Hopefully the message was clear though. She could more than handle herself. “Go have fun doing your boring historian reading stuff and research and all of that. I don’t want to keep you away from it any longer.” 

George still looked unsure, but he backed down a little when he realized his sons were staring at them. “Alright. Well. I’ll be in the study with Lance.” He walked up to the door a little sluggish, then smiled back at them. “Have fun, too. Okay?”

“We will,” Gil assured. Catra glanced over at him, and then at his brothers, and then down at the bandanna and jacket she had the pleasure to be wearing. She was surrounded by warmth, and not just because of the insulated leather. 

“Yeah.” She smiled. “We will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so originally this chapter was going to be much longer, but i figured i'd slot the following scene into the next one just because it made more sense. Um. yeah, i'm going to be posting drawings of Axel, Baker, and Gil on my instagram if that's something you're interested in seeing so go check that out there. Have a good rest of your day lads. im outtie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They let Shadow Weaver’s worst prodigy, best monster, into their home. A Horde soldier, who for all they knew, probably killed Jean. Definitely came close to it with Bow, at least. Nothing but a dangerous promise that things wouldn’t be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY FOR THE RADIO SILENCE I DIED.  
PLEASE ENJOY I PUT MY BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS INTO THIS CHAPTER.  
Trigger warnings pretty mild, mentions of shadow Weaver's usual manipulation, heavy spiral downwards, and more migraines

By the time Lance was done with his daily routine, dinner was freshly made: a mushroom stew with a fruit-heavy salad on the side. The dishes themselves weren’t hot or required use of the oven, so the kitchen thankfully remained a mild temperature. All that was left was to set up the table, but that job went to the boys or George, seeing as Lance was the one to make the food. Which meant it was time to go collect each of them from their rooms! 

Lance hummed at that. It felt good to gather everyone up to relax together, even if the situation itself was incredibly mundane.

When he made his way up the stairs to Gil’s room he thought little on hearing multiple overlapping voices coming through the door. The boys often gathered there when they were bored. And sue him if he eavesdropped occasionally, he only really did it so that he could tease them, and it was their fault for talking so loud in the first place. Or at least, that’s how Lance justified it to himself.

“-A person’s jaw is basically a huge knockout button. If you twigs ever find yourself in a fight, hit there, and hit it hard. But if you have no other choice, go for the throat. Just don’t crush their windpipe unless you’re ready to become a killer.” Came a voice that was certainly too feminine to be Axel, Gil, or Baker. Catra, then. When had she familiarized herself with his boys? 

“Wait, have you killed a person before?” Gil’s voice squeaked out, which was met with an array of laughter. There among the familiar was the laugh that stuck out, a high-pitched series of squeaks that passed for chuckling. Now that, that was new. Was that  _ Catra’s _ laugh? Lance hadn’t even known she  _ could _ laugh. 

“What do you take me for, Bert?” The now-identified-Catra mocked a hurt tone but it all remained playful. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” 

Gil gasped even more, but Lance struggled to hear more past Baker and Axel’s low giggles and hysterics. 

That was enough of that. Lance opened up the door without any precaution or warning. 

And inside, there was Gil. As expected. And Baker, and Axel, and…. Catra. Sitting right between Baker and Axel on Gil’s bed, crouching in on herself but also somehow sprawling out her arms, like she was trying to look casual maybe? On top of that she was wearing Gil’s old beat-up jacket and bandanna. Yet she hardly looked the most out of place. 

The box that held Gil’s history of poor fashion was turned upside down on the floor, next to a long forgotten puzzle. The clothes that were supposed to be stored away within were sprawled all across the floor, but some seemed to have made their way elsewhere, ridiculously. 

Baker’s hands were wormed into Gil’s old pair of blue and black boots, the ones with thick heels. As well as the sparkling sunglasses(complete with one lense popped out) nearly falling off the bridge of his nose. Axel, beside Catra and him, had Gil’s frilly bomber half shrugged onto his shoulders and a studded belt balanced on his shoulders like a tie that he hadn’t bothered to...well, tie. Gil himself had dress pants thrown over his head like they were some kind of hat, and that was enough to make Lance chuckle. 

Catra’s ears perked up at that, and immediately turned to the doorway. She locked blue and yellow eyes with Lance’s own brown ones, looking like a kid caught with her hands in a cookie jar. She cracked an uneasy grin, and Lance smiled back, 

“Early spring cleaning?” He prompted, earning the attention of the rest of the children in Gil’s room. They all turned to the door frame, Catra taking the chance to look away. 

“Oh hey Dad,” Baker smiled dopily, with Gil and Axel behind him yelping and rushing to pull of the clothes from before. Lance shielded his line of sight with his own palm, humoring them by pretending he hadn’t seen anything, although he’d definitely find a way to poke fun at them later. Once the shuffling noises stopped, he looked back up. 

Baker looked back at them with a face that screamed “are you done yet?” and beside him Catra seemed to be smirking, possibly even holding back a cackle. Axel whistled as if nothing had happened at all. 

“Uh.” Baker continued, facing Lance again. “What’s up?” 

“Dinner’s done.” Lance took a step into the room, tempted to reach down and gather up all of the clothes lying around. Instead he ruffled Gil’s hair, who had been sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him. “I was wondering if Gil and the lot of you would set the table for me?”

“Me included?” Catra asked, pointing to herself cautiously. 

Lance blinked, he hadn’t really been taking that into account.

Was she thinking of eating with the rest of them tonight, instead of stealing a dish from the kitchen and eating in the room they had given her? Well, that would certainly be a first. Maybe it was because she had finally familiarized herself with the rest of the residents of the house, or perhaps she was just overall more comfortable. Both were progress in some ways, so hopefully it was a mix of both. It was a little exciting! Lance tried to hold back his smile before he remembered he didn’t need to.

“I-,” But Catra cut him off. He had apparently taken what was deem-ably too long to answer, because in front of him was Catra shrunk in on herself, looking unsure now. Almost hurt, almost angry. Her voice was nearly bitter when he spoke up. “I don’t have to if it’s going to be a problem.”

“My dear, of course you can if you want to,” Lance smiled but part of him knew it was a little strained. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”   
That seemed to bug Catra even more, her claws digging into the mattress she sat on enough to puncture. Gil, owner of said bed, whined in the back of his throat upon seeing it. Catra pointedly ignored him. She lifted her head, and glared up at Lance. “I won’t be ruining it for you guys?” Catra asked quietly, tail curling in on her lap.

“Catra,” He heard himself say, unsure of how to handle her sudden mood-drop without her jumping him again. He chose his words cautiously. “You won’t ruin anything. I’m excited that you’ll be at the dinner table with us. In fact, that would make me incredibly happy. Please don’t worry yourself.”

Catra blinked, and looked down at her hands were her claws met fabric and gently pulled away. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” 

Gil frowned at her and reached his hand out, but accurately thought better on it and sat on his hands. “I don’t think dinner can be ruined, unless you’re the type to put on too much salt or something, or you just don’t like the dish.” 

That pulled a laugh out of everyone, Catra included. And like the spell had been broken, the boys went right back to rambling and talking over each other like they had been before Lance stepped in. And Catra, Catra just slumped back onto the bed for a moment before sighing. 

She looked up at Lance. Whatever flashed in her eyes was apologetic while also calculating. He’d pulled that look out of her often, like she was constantly trying to find something hidden in the actions of everyone around her. God, that must have been exhausting. They needed to work on that together, so that Catra didn’t continue to compartmentalize everything. 

This time, when Lance smiled at her, it wasn’t strained from nerves or anxiety. In fact, it wasn’t strained at all and he hoped she saw that. Whatever mental gymnastics she was so inclined to do weren’t out on the table for him to dissect, but he didn’t need to pry into her traumas to figure out she had been set off- but he had the power to reassure her. And so he did, if only non-verbally.

That seemed to be enough to her, and she was able to smile back, if only a little smaller. 

…………

When Lance left to grab George from the study, the trio of boys all jumped up and started for the dining room, with Catra trailing behind them a little. She fell back not to scan them for potential threats or weaknesses like she was normally inclined to do, but to get some space before she was thrown into an entire full-on dinner setting. With the entirety of Lance and his family, all at once. It was just a lot, a lot, a lot. Especially with their previous interaction moments ago. So she needed time to stir, even just for a moment.

Lance had freaked her  _ out _ . He had hesitated when Catra asked to tag along, and it had thrown her for a loop. Because hesitation had been a curse Catra had been dealing with for too long in too many places. And to see it surface in what was her only place to go sent panic into each and every nerve Catra had. 

Because when Catra hesitated she’d lose her footing on the battlefield. When Catra hesitated Shadow Weaver landed another hit. When Catra hesitated Hordak would catch her in a web of lies and demote her. When Catra hesitated Scorpia would assume too much and take too many steps closer. When Catra hesitated she’d gain a new scar on her temple and a new head full of migraines, and then she’d still have to wake up the next day. 

So hesitation had become a pretty wicked fucking curse for her, and seeing it scrawled on Lance’s face had to have meant something. So she read between the lines. Her brain rushed to confirm all the doubts that had been fucking her over since day one. He nearly let go, in that moment. 

Let go of all of the promises he had been keen on fulfilling, on a subtle offering of everything else. Everything else being a place among a happy, healthy family of historians. His hesitation was a slip-up that he couldn’t hide, and that Catra couldn’t ignore. Because she had to look for the cracks in a promise, the most important ones she had ever kept had a habit of turning on her and if she took any lesson away from her shitty excuse of a life she knew you couldn’t just rely on the weight of a person’s words. 

If Lance hesitated for her to come to something as simple as dinner with them, then he sure as hell would hesitate on whether or not she had any right to be alongside him. And obviously she didn’t, Catra was volatile. A ticking time bomb sinking to the ocean, when Lance and George and Baker and Axel and Gil were all thousands of feet above the surface, and better off because of it. Simply put, if Catra had to imagine herself she was a square block, forcing herself into a circle puzzle. 

And she had panicked, panicked enough to let herself think all of that stupid nihilistic bullshit. But then Lance had to go and reassure her with a smile alone, throw away all of her own worries so she couldn’t even get the chance to hesitate. To make her feel at home, and not because he felt he had to but because he wanted her there. 

God, all of them were so well-meaning. If she stayed around long enough they might even rub some of their kindness on her. 

It would do her some good. Literally. 

Maybe then she wouldn’t get caught in long self-destructive tangents in her head. Or at least they’d be shorter. 

Axel, Baker, and Gil’s footsteps quote to nothing in front of her, and when Catra looks up, they’re all staring at her. They’ve arrived at the entryway between the kitchen and the dining room already, so they didn’t really have a reason to stop. But something on their faces gave away they had been paying attention to Catra, watching her from the corners of their eyes. 

“You alright?” Axel asks. “Seem a little lost in thought there.”   
“Just hungry,” Catra lies, smiling big and fake enough to show all of her sharp canines. “What’s your dear old dad making anyways? Normally it smells like a whole lot of everything.” She turns and raises her nose up to the ceiling for effect and takes a simple sniff. And then she turns back to the boys. “But right now it smells like a whole lot of nothing. Can’t make an educated guess like usual.”

“You smell the rooms you’re in?” Gil asked with crossed arms and a confused expression.

“Not optionally, dumbass. I’ve got better senses than you. Heightened. It’s like when you walk into your own room after a shower and are hit by the stink of your own shoes, but all the  _ time _ for me.” Catra shuddered, thinking of the locker-rooms back in the fright-zone. What got into the pre-teenage mind that made boys think deodorant should have been optional? Every time after a days worth of training and Kyle skipping the showers, Catra moaned about her own personal hell to Adora. With an added flair to her complaints, her best friend( _ ex- _ best friend, her conscious hurried to remind her) would end up laughing, a soft and sweet sound usually accompanied with a sympathetic nod or hum. 

“You saying dad’s cooking stinks?” Gil prompted, and Baker laughed behind him. 

“What? Course not. I guess it’s different, here. It’s the most pleasantly ...overwhelming smell I get. Now that I know the names of everything I can pinpoint the different spices he uses. But it’s just so much, that it’s weird not feeling it, y'know?”

“Mh, makes sense to me,” Axel affirmed, who walked back into the kitchen. He went up to the stove, taking off the lid of one pot and peering in. He sniffed at it himself, then turned back to Catra and his brothers. “And I know why that is. Dad made stew. Looks like it’s made mostly out of mushrooms.” Gil ‘ew’ed softly. “And they’re pretty odorless things.” 

“Okay, we setting up bowls instead of plates then?” Asked Baker, who was already grabbing spoons out of a cabinet. 

“What else would you put down?” Gil snorted, trailing up behind him to grab cups from the cupboard beside him. “We grabbing forks to go along with this lovely soup?” 

“Stew,” Axel corrected.

“What’s the difference?” 

“Stew is more food than liquid. Soup is basically all liquid with little bits of food,” Catra chimed in, who had fallen in line to help him fill each cup with water.

“Why do you know that?” Gil huffed. He passed her the final cup out of six and put his hands on his hips. One of the cups was bright pink and read ‘#1 dad.’ Catra absently wondered if that went to George or Lance before she set it down in front of a random seat. 

“Well why do you care? It’s just stew.”

“Yeah, a stew with mushrooms in it. God, gross. That texture is so nasty, slimey and slick.”

“Mushrooms are only slimey if you’ve kept them somewhere cold for too long,” Axell huffed, but Catra and Gil paid no mind. 

“You have an allergy? Mushroom-related trauma of some sort?” 

“No. Why-,”

“Then you’ll live.” 

Baker snickered softly again, and when Catra turned around him and Axel had already set everything else out in the dining room. Just as Gil huffed out a ‘barely’, in walked George and Lance, talking to each other at a mile a minute. 

Catra didn’t even hear what they were saying, but she knew it was probably something disgustingly cute based on the soft and thrilled hum George gave in response to something the other had said. They hadn’t even noticed everyone had turned to them yet, still captivated by each other and holding hands with the dopiest smiles Catra had ever seen on any face, ever. 

Each of the boys took turns to mock-gag at each other, but Catra didn’t have it in her to do the same. They really were just a cute old couple. Sue her if she didn’t make fun of them for finding undying love, or whatever. 

It would have been hypocritical of her to do so when she had spent so much time fantasizing over a love like that when she was a kid. Not that she ever admitted that to anyone else, out loud. Especially Adora, who was the object of such embarrassing fantasies. 

Catra lets the thought wash over her, refusing to feel bittersweet in a situation that should make her happy. 

“Oh, kids!” Lance blinks, finally jolted awake when Baker cleared his throat. “You all set up the table, thank you!” 

“You asked us to? Why are you thanking us?” Catra mumbled, and cocked her head at Lance. He did the same, that same look from earlier making its way onto his features. 

“Well, you didn’t have to. And I appreciate that you did. So, thank you, Catra.” Before Catra can form a response, Lance is searching the table. He seems to scan it for a moment, before locking his sight on a specific seat. The one with the “#1 dad” cup-, which George catches on to a second later because he groans behind Lance.

After that, they’re all taking a seat, butts sitting in chairs until Catra’s the only one left standing up, who had been so worried that she’s end up in a seat that was unspoken/reserved for someone else that she had forgotten to sit at all. 

But a chair was left open beside George and Axel, and she rushed to sit down between them. 

George glanced at her, eyebrow raised, with an approving smile that probably would have looked smug if it had been anyone else. Scratch that, if it hadn’t been anyone in this family. But trying to smile back felt forced, so instead Catra nodded her head and turned to the dish in front of her. 

Mushroom stew, like the boys had said. Come to think of it, hadn’t Lance had an entire basket of mushrooms with him some time ago? Lifting a spoonful of it to her nose, it still smelt void of anything, which couldn’t be the case if Lance took his time with it, self-proclaimed spice-master and all. 

Well, nothing to lose. Lowering it down to her mouth, Catra gulps the sip down.    
It’s….not bad. Certainly not poisonous like Gil was acting it was, whining a little bit with his each bite. Lance laughed at him, but George took it seriously, and scolded him for being inconsiderate of his father(‘no, your OTHER father, not me, Gil,’) and that he wouldn’t have to eat all of it if it was really that bad. But it wasn’t that bad, he was just being a crybaby as everyone else slurped up and drank the bowls in front of them and poked at the veggies that floated through the broth. Hm.

It was weird eating in front of other people.

Even when Catra was younger, she couldn’t stand being in the cafeteria with all the other cadets, and would get in fights just to have an excuse to slip out of the room. Being watched eating really just set her off in a way that was hard to explain.

Eventually the workers behind the lunch line were so tired of her antics they’d let her leave with her lunch tray, and later Adora, who complained it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t go along. It gave them a chance to run off to whatever farthest corner of the Fright Zone Catra had found the other day, hoping Shadow Weaver wouldn’t seek either of them out. And because Catra was weird about things, and Adora knew Catra was weird about things, Adora always ate facing away from Catra so she wouldn’t get uncomfortable with the extra pair of eyes on her. 

Not that it was entirely different here, but the anxiety in Catra’s gut over the ordeal wasn’t excruciatingly overwhelming. It might have been that there was no real ‘leader’ or overseer prowling the room to watch her, but it also might have been the fact that the soft conversation between the family around her was gentle and relaxing. 

They floated about topics, Baker staying out of them all together for the most-part and Axel or Gil high-jacking their parents’ conversations to interject something tangentially related. It was stupid, but easy to fall into. And they even made space for Catra to talk, if she felt the need to, always prompting her opinion on the matter. The cat, Monkey, came in at one point and she watched Axel feed him undesirable veggies under the table. Although Monkey looked just as uninterested as Gil had. Catra rolled her eyes. 

It was when Catra’s bowl was empty and that George’s laughter from a previous joke died down that she decided to speak up. 

“Are you all historians?” Catra gestured to the boys across the dinner table. 

“Yes,” Axel blinked, a lazy-dazed look glossing over his relaxed eyes. 

“But they all specialize in different fields,” George added in.

“Like what?”

“The paranormal and scientific discovery,” Gil said. “Although I’m sure you probably figured at least one of those out by now.” Catra had not, but she made a face she was sure looked like understanding and pretended she had. 

“Social and intellectual history.” Axel puffed up his chest and rested his hand on his chin, looking happy with himself. 

That left Baker, who looked caught in the headlights when everyone turned to him. He took a moment to wipe his face with his napkin, then chuckled softly. 

“I’m not a double-major, but I like to think culture is amazing too. The arts and storytelling stay with people forever through generation to generation. I mean, look at the First ones. I can make a whole career out of deciphering the way that processed the world through the things they left behind, and I love it. All of my family has found something about the past that makes them feel amazed in the same way-” Baker promptly cut himself off once he seemed to realize he was rambling, and let out a chuckle. But he didn’t sound sheepish at all, just pleased he’d been asked in the first place. “It’s cool is all.” 

“Right on,” Catra said, holding her hand out for a fist bump. Baker looked up, and gladly took the offer with a grin. “When you put it like that I guess I could get behind that. Never been too keen on history books and regular lit.” She blinked, trying to think of how to best phrase her experience without letting them in on her less than savory child soldier life. “The ...classes I took were only focused on cramming in the basics. I ended up skipping everything because none of it was presented in a way that was interesting.”

“What an absolute shame. Our schooling system is undeniably broken if students can’t even connect to a single course.” George hummed, then shook his head with a sigh. “They’re doing it wrong. All wrong.” He practically sounded distressed, and Catra felt the urge to clasp a hand on his head and pat him before she quickly dismissed the feeling.

“Educational reform should be continuous as the world changes around us, otherwise it’s bound to be out of date and suffocating.” Lance agreed, squeezing George’s hand in a loving, simple gesture. “But how lucky we are, to still have children who thrive and look outside of the system.”

Gil let out a sheepish chuckle, looking to his brothers with a flushed face. Catra rolled her eyes. Being embarrassed over praise made no sense to her, not when the opposite attention was so much harsher. Something in her aches for a moment, but Catra pushes it down to keep it dull. Not the time to reactivate old pains.

“So...do you choose for them? Major wise?” 

George looked up, almost offended. “Oh, gods no. Each of the boys can do whatever they’d like as long as they keep honing in their respective histories.”

“Or even just their respective skills,” Lance corrected, “They don’t all have to be historians. Hopefully that’s not the impression you got-,” Catra shook her head, even though that had been the case. “We had to sort out that issue with our youngest, recently. I suppose our family is just more inclined to this type of work.” 

“Oh.”   
“It is weird, though.” Gil acknowledges, twirling his long-abandoned bowl of stew around with his spoon. Catra watches the liquid slosh around in the bowl, trying to focus but being hit with the feeling of a rising migraine. 

It stabs at the center of her head, not soothed by Catra pinching her claws into the bridge of her nose. No one seems to notice though, so Catra keeps quiet, even as her brain tears into itself. “I mean, only Jean and Bow ever wanted to do something outside of history.” Gil continues, and something in Catra changes. 

Her headache doubles into two identical pains, triggered by something she can’t understand. Bow? That name sounds familiar, and the familiarity grows in her chest as she stares at George, at Lance. At Baker, at Axel, at Gil. Bow. She knew that name. 

They become familiar too, even as their voices echo around her and she can barely process them. Why the hell should it matter so much, and why does thinking about it make her headache worse? A flash of arrows blink rapidly in her mind when she attempts to look at Lance. Gold-rimmed armor with a body she faintly remembers tackling to the ground, and a boy with a heart across his chest.

Fuck. 

Catra doubles over as the split pains ground against each other behind her skull, pushing all thoughts out of her head so that it can make way for the disabling ache pouring into her temple. Part of her recognizes she’s no longer in her seat, but it doesn’t seem important right now.

“Catra? What’s going on?” She hears someone ask, but it doesn’t sound like a sentence. More so words in front of other words, unable to click in her head. The words hang in the air, and it’s like Catra can see them in front of her- floating off into obscurity. 

Like back in the guestroom, the reality around her breaks. Like glass it cracks, and the floor opens up. Black streaks line her vision, but it looks more like wounds coming alive around her. Gaping and twitching, disgustingly real beside her when they shouldn’t be. 

Catra herself looks down, and it’s the same. Part of her is wilting, organic flesh in stark contrast next to electric black and white, all accompanied with that fucking ache. Where everyone was a moment ago remains one person, five times over. 

Bow. Bow, one out of the two of Adora’s best friends. Bow, the soldier on the opposite side of the war as her. His face, copied onto the bodies of his family. Looking cruelly and painfully concerned, like he should care about her after everything she’s done. Pity for a monster. All sorts of feelings flicker by, more and more piling on as she stares back at him. Hatred. Jealously. Anxiety. Guilt.  _ Regret _ . 

He’s only there for a moment before he starts wilting too, everything shaking violently like this reality was designed to aggravate her migraines. In what little peripheral vision she has now is weak, but pools visions of blonde haired warriors and portals and alien overlords behind her eyelids. Vertigo grips Catra through her veins, and the only way Catra knows how to stop it is to shut everything off. No distractions to do that with, though. 

She shuts her eyes instead. 

“-on’t run, just make sure you bring the aid over without spilling the contents. Grab the -Catra?” 

She wouldn’t open her eyes. Not if it meant seeing a face she thought she would never have to see her again on people who had no business being near her. A hand gently brushes against her shoulder, but it doesn’t jolt her enough. Instead, she groans and pulls away from the warmth and pulls her ears down to her hair hard enough to be painful. It’s all still incredibly heightened, and Catra was to vomit. 

It’s when the hand from before returns and rubs soothing circles on her back that she even dares to budge. Lance and George seem to be on both of her sides when she flutters her eyes open, but she refuses to look at them. Instead she glares down at her hands. Not blackened anymore, but shaking violently. Shaking, and heaving.

When had she started heaving? All her fur stands on edge, unable to go back down now that her head is screaming. Not from pain, although it was still there, unable to move on. Screaming from a series of thoughts too jumbled and rapid for her to even understand. 

And there’s blood dripping onto the floor. When she traces a finger along her face and pulls it back, the source is revealed: her nose. It’s a disgusting color, darker than it should be too. The portal needed to stop fucking with her like this. 

Bracing herself for a scolding, Catra takes three deep breaths. It hurts somewhere in her ribs and head, but she ignores it and takes each individual breath anyway. And then she faces what she doesn’t want to.

She looks at the concerned faces crowding around her and feels another wave pass over her, but this time it’s not guilt, not fear. Self-hatred, or disgust, maybe? Whatever it is overrides her arms and head and body, and Catra is pushing herself up off the ground before George can offer her a hand. 

They all look relieved that she’s okay, shaky smiles sketched onto their features. Features seen on a boy she willingly captured, fought, nearly killed. Their son, their blood- who a month ago, Catra would have so desperately wanted to throw away. Catra should have seen through this ages ago. What a joke. If they really wanted her there they were idiots. Because it wasn’t a matter of want or need or care, it was  _ her _ . 

They let Shadow Weaver’s worst prodigy, best monster, into their home. A Horde soldier, who for all they knew, probably killed Jean. Definitely came close to it with Bow, at least. Nothing but a dangerous promise that things wouldn’t be alright. 

She shouldn’t have made herself so comfortable in the first place.

And she’d spread that poison farther into their blood if they weren’t careful. Whatever trust they built was worthless. If this instance was proof of anything, it was that her mistakes followed her. And one day they would crush her, and anyone who was idiotic enough to stand by her side. Adora was right to let her go, and Shadow Weaver too. They could rot in their happy lives surrounded by people that cared, but Catra could never have the same. 

Lance had been right to hesitate, but he had been wrong to keep her around. She wanted to hold onto them so bad, to have something to herself, but it was selfish. Ruining it just by existing. Nothing new. Figures the one place she could crawl to was plagued by the ghosts of the heroes she was crawling away from. Catra almost laughed at that, but she had a feeling it would concern everyone else all the more if she did. 

‘I can’t stay here.’ Is what she wants to say. What Catra does manage out instead is ...nothing. Just a stare before she’s backing away, away, away.

She sprints down the hallway, ignoring their concerned protests. Ignoring the burn in her heart, too.

She never should have let this happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was this worth the wait? i am unsure. did i update? yes. so win-win basically right?  
anyways I was listening to so much matt maeson while writing that last half of this chapter, because when I get migraines(which I have right now) it helps to listen to my favorite music. I honestly recommend all of his music, all of his albums make me think of catra. One song in specific is “The Hearse.” So fucking good dudes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to get better,” She says again to no one in particular. George would say she’s convincing herself of such, but something tells him she’s wanted this for a long time. She just never admitted it out loud before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is standard at this point so I don't wanna say I'm "late" but   
*shows up late to my own fic with starbucks and a 'season 4 emotionally destroyed me' shirt* hey.  
please enjoy!!! no big trigger warnings although there's a lot of back and forth fighting this chapter because.,,, aftermath be like. whoop

_ _ “What just happened?” George aches at the straining his own voice, looking down at where Catra had been a second ago. When he looks up, Lance looks tired. Guilt-ridden, even. Like he thinks this was in any way his fault. “Lance.” 

“Yes, darling?” He raises his head and blinks away forming tears. George aches. 

“What’s going on?” The question is dumb. Obviously nothing good, but it feels like all he can do is push for an answers against the sea that is Catra’s unknown, of Catra’s abrasiveness. 

“I…,” Lance wipes at his own eyes, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”

“Do you...want us to go get her?” Axel asked gently beside them, giving Lance a supportive squeeze to the arm and a tender, inquisitive glance to George. Baker and Gil stood on either side of the two, just as alarmed. Worry etches its way into each of their features, and for a moment George could have sworn each of them looked like Lance.

But not in the comforting sense- much more like unwelcome nostalgia that burned through his throat. Nostalgia of when Jean had died, and the oldest of their boys were only just reaching double digits and unable to process what had happened. At the time Lance could do nothing but break down, like he was doing right now. Even then, when they were all so young, they caught on so quick and it was like a match had been struck. Each of them internalizing what had happened, finding ways for sympathy to render them paralyzed. 

George felt paralyzed. For the first time in years. He hadn’t been on a battlefield in over a decade, nor had close proximity to the war weighed down on him as heavily as it could have. Not even when Bow came home with the Rebellion leader and the Princess of Power herself had he backtracked like this. But this panic reawakened something old in George who had been foolish enough to think he was over the shaking and panic attacks and nightmares. Not that those things ever truly fade. Why did this have to be so difficult? The situation was in no way about him, but yet he was taking it like a shot to the heart. Catra didn’t deserve him projecting his own issues onto her just because he saw himself in her-she needed to be comforted. But he was paralyzed, and even thinking about taking a step in her direction knocked the wind out of him. 

“Dad?” Baker says, cocking his head to the side. When George turns to him Baker smiles weakly but it pales next to Baker’s tightly-knit eyebrows and tense shoulders. George snaps out of it. Or at least puts on a mask so that Baker doesn’t worry himself more than he already has. 

He needs to get a hold of himself. If not for his own sake then always,  _ always _ for them. 

“No, no. Not yet. Sorry I just...don’t know.” George looks to Lance, who has gone back to staring at the ground. The paralysis can wait, George thinks, as he grabs Lance’s hand and kisses between each of his knuckles. “I think we need to talk this out first.” 

Lance snaps to attention, looking right into George. “What?” 

“You told me that you’d take care of yourself and that we-,”

“That’s not what this is, George.” Lance’s hand goes tense in his own, and his gaze turns hesitant. “We are  _ not _ abandoning her.” Something about the air feels cold. 

“I didn’t say that-,” 

“Not out loud. But every time Catra becomes upset you say the same thing, George.” Lance breathes in and breathes out loudly, refusing to meet George in the eye. The boys all hold their breath. “Why can’t you just let her feel things? Would you threaten to kick me out every time I felt hurt? Every time one of them messed up?” Lance gestures to Axel, then Baker, then Gil. All of them tense, heads turning between him and George, looking guilty for being in the room. Where the air felt cold, now it feels freezing, like a storm-cloud is coming together overhead. 

“Why do you jump to that? You think I want to just drop her?”

“You promised she’d be one of our own as long as she’s in our house.”    
“I know that! She is!” Paralyzing melts away. In its place sits something sensitive and raw.    
“Then why is it that you act like she’s disposable? Can’t you see she’s hurting?” The storm has come in, and it’s unrelenting. Violently. 

“Of course I can! Of course, of course! I never thought that she-I’m just worried, Lance!” George barks it out. Explosives go off in each of his words. “I need to put my family first!” 

“She  _ is _ our family!” Lance shouts, pulling his hands over his head. The tears from before reappear fresh in his eyes, and he openly lets them fall to the ground. 

“She can’t replace Jean! Stop pretending like she will!” Instead of rain, it hails. Images of Catra falling to the ground and staring out like she’s caught in a pocket dimension flood the space in George’s memories alongside flashes of a daughter long-gone, and he wants nothing more than to crumple to the floor himself. If he wasn’t housed between four solid walls, George would’ve convinced himself he was in the eye of a storm, 

“Is that why you’ve been hesitant?” Lance’s voice is so quite George strains to hear him. “I know you’ve said something like that before but I thought ...oh my love. I’m so sorry.” Lance takes two strides to fill the space between them, and he instantly wraps his arms around George in an embrace once he can. The bitter downpour that was raging less and less dies in George’s heart now that he is surrounded by a warmth he had not known he was searching for. Even still, he shakes. Panic hasn’t worn off, and George clings to his husband for the support he offers. 

“I would never. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Lance murmurs, petting at his head. But that can’t be right because after years of them being married George was familiar with apologies and Lance, and in most cases it was George who was wrong. His apologies cannot be left one-sided. 

“No, Lance. I am. I’ve really been looking at this all wrong.” George lets himself take a breath and rests his head on Lance’s shoulder. When he opens his eyes, the boys are looking on with hopeful looks that are still tinged with an air of awkwardness-although tension has left their bodies. He shuts his eyes again. “It’s just that things have been different since you brought her here and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. What else should I have thought? Funny thing is I got mad because you accused me of thinking a certain way but I ended up doing exactly the same. I’m sorry.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Lance sighed, pulling back, and George lifts up himself to kiss Lance’s cheek in apology. “I’m…things  _ are _ different. But it’s not because I want Catra to replace anyone. I just...I can’t let a kid feel like that. I don’t want her to end up like Jean, I guess.” 

“Darling, oh how I know.” Dampness pricks at the corners of George’s eyes, but he welcomes them instead of blinking them away. “Jean was so much like me that for years I blamed her death on me. And Catra...I see that in her too. I see me, and I want to stomp it out but that’s not healthy. I just…,” George doesn’t finish the thought, just takes a few minutes to breath in and out. 

“I want to help her,” Lance states openly, as if that hadn’t been clear from day one. Still, George finds himself smiling. 

“Then let’s get to it.” 

……..

George doesn’t let the boys come with him and Lance to find Catra-the more people they brought along the less likely Catra would be willing to talk things out. But despite their search party practically halved, she’s not hard to find. 

There are claw marks on the carpets and floors that point in her direction, likely more of a reflexive panic in her clawed feet than malicious intent to destroy the house. As those lead them through the house and to the staircase, there lie discarded the bandanna and jacket Gil had given to Catra earlier. Lance gives out a sad chuckle, and keeps walking even after her ‘tracks’ end. He seems to know where she is on instinct, and George follows him out onto the balcony. 

At first he doesn’t see anything out in the semi-dark, his eyes not really being the best or most reliable sight-seers. But then he can catch the hint movement from the corner of his eye and he trails it to one brown tail. It swishes about in such a way the tail itself looks irritated, but when George takes a step back closer to see the entire picture he knows that’s not the case. 

Catra sits on the bench tucked by the corner of the balcony, curled up into a ball. She’s sitting straight and frontwards, so from here George only sees her back but there’s a noticeable shake to her shoulders and her ears flop to the sides of her head in the most kicked-puppy way he’d ever seen. At her feet sit the cat-who George thought Catra would have shooed off at this point, but Monkey seems completely comfortable under the bench- he looks like a baked loaf of bread with how he sits. Lance takes a single step though, and Catra’s ears immediately pick up. She bristles. 

“I thought you said I’d be undisturbed out here,” She huffs, voice pitched down but not harsh. 

“What-,” George barely asks but Catra barks out a ‘Not you.’ She turns to them but not quiet, hidden by the bench she leans into. 

“Catra.” Lance’s breath hitches, and for a moment he struggles to talk but then gives up. George fairs no better, staring at her like a fish out of water. All he manages to do is walk closer, to be near her in hopes he can gain the courage to give courage. 

“If you aren’t going to yell at me then just leave me alone. I don’t want to listen to whatever comfortable lies you have for me.” She glares at them for a second before tearing her head away. She looks up at the empty, starless sky above them. George mimics the action-peering up into a dark blue void. It offers no solution to him-not that he thinks one will ever come easy with the lives they live. 

Lance takes a few steps forward himself, but he goes until he’s close enough to place his hand on the bench. “Not all good things are too good to be true. I’m not trying to sugarcoat things, but you really do have a place here. Please don’t waste it because you don’t feel you deserve it.”

“Yeah, well, I have a less sugary truth for you. I should have left the moment I woke up,” Catra hisses, face obscured behind her arms. It draws more attention to her glowing eyes, bright blue and yellow that almost look greenish in the dim light around them. It’s not enough to hide the red puffy quality and the dark eye-bags that fall under them. “Follow in everyone’s footsteps, right? Maybe I just shouldn’t have woken up in the first place.” 

“Don’t-,” George feels that ache in his heart again, but doesn’t push it away. It’d just keep coming back until they resolved this. “You have worth, Catra. And like Lance said-you have a place here. We-I,” George looks to Lance, who wears a soft smile on his face, “I want you here, and I want you to be safe. And happy.”

  
  


“Ha. You know how much you  _ wouldn’t _ want me here if you knew me? You have no idea.” 

“What on Etheria are you talking about? How can you say we don’t know you, you’ve been here with us, we can see you.” Lance says, scooching in closer to the bench, to the point where he’s almost sitting on the railing. “You’re not unknowable-,” 

“You fucking don’t! What makes you entitled to ‘know’ me, huh? What makes you think you know anything-with your perfect lives and your perfect sons? Sitting on your high pedestals because you’re better than me? And the worst thing is you make me feel like I could be the same, that I could be good. But then something, anything, happens and I go backwards. At the end of every day I’m as bad as I was when I left.” Catra grabs at her own throat and shuts her eyes. “I just don’t get it anymore.” 

“Catra-,”

“I’m the worst person you’ve ever met, and you’re both idiots for letting me anywhere near you! Shit,” She laughs loud and awful, the sound not like the breathy giggle or chuckle George has heard from her before. “And I thought I was naive.” 

“Please,” George lowers his voice, but not to intimidate. It’s an honest and soft tone, one he doesn’t use often because otherwise it would lose its meaning. “Before I lived my life with Lance, I lost my entire family in the war. I don’t want to be on any high pedestal. If that’s what you saw, forgive me. But I see us as equals.”

Catra glares at him, though there’s little heat behind it. Mostly she just looks worn down. Tired. “Oh. I’m sorry, you aren’t racking up pity points. Good for you. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to hate me, so it doesn’t really matter.” 

“Why? Why would I hate you? You’ve been nothing if not willing to try with us. That’s all I can ask.”

“We would never hate you,” Lance jumps in, hand on his own heart. 

“Even if I killed your kid?” 

“There’s no possible way you could’ve, Jean was long before your time.” Lance chokes out. 

“Don’t conflate your hurt with guilt for something you couldn’t possibly have done.” George reminds her, although he’s missed something. Lance seems to understand, but it doesn’t make sense. Even irrational, Catra is clear with her reasoning. She can’t have jumped to killing one of his kids without any logical ideas to lead her down that path. 

“Guilt?” Catra whispers. She reaches for her headpiece seemingly on reflex, claws digging tight into the flesh and metal there. Lance winces next to her, but George is too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice . 

She pulls off the headpiece she’s worn since the very first day they’ve known each other, and she pushes her bangs back. There’s a scar, angry and brightly discolored against the smooth flesh surrounding it and it forms one shape. Lance doesn’t seem surprised to see the insignia of the Horde branded into Catra’s skull. It dawns on George heavily why so much of Catra was soldier-like, why he had felt like things were different. Lance had known. That makes sense though. The thought washes over him, and George is at peace. 

Things had felt like they were building up to something for a long time. Now he knew what it was. 

“You’re from the Horde.” 

“Yeah.” Catra looks dazed and her voice sounds as far away from her body as it could. “I was.” 

The significance of ‘was’ doesn’t escape George, but it’s not the most important thing on his mind. He takes a seat next to her-and when Catra doesn’t jump away, he stays there. Lance does the same. 

“You must be really strong, then.”

“You...what? Don’t you hate me?” She checks herself over like she’s worried he was going to hurt her, but when she’s done she stares wide-eyed at George. “Shouldn’t you be mad at me?” 

“No, of course not. I’m an adult. Being mad won’t fix anything, Catra. You’re just one kid.” George sighs, pushing his hair back with his hand. He reaches his hand out next to her and Catra leans into it, eyes fluttering open. He can feel her shaking through the one point of contact, and it makes him hurt in a way a simple sympathy would not.

“I know you’re not the type who likes people who assume....” George leans back and gauges Catra’s reaction but she looks preoccupied staring at her headpiece in her own hands.“But I can tell there are things that have been taken away from you, and things you have taken away from others on instinct. But that doesn’t  _ need _ to matter. You can grow.” 

“We won’t give up on you,” Lance reassures. “Having thirteen sons teaches you some things. If growth were easy my family would never fight.” Lance looks over to George, an apologetic look on his face. “Or jump to conclusions because it’s easier than communicating what you actually feel.” George finds his other hand in Lance’s, and squeezes tight. 

“Yeah... Well, what’s the verdict, kiddo? We’ve been talking at you a lot but you’re the most important piece right now.” George prompts, patting down Catra’s hair and easing his hand off of her head. 

“I,” Catra’s breathing is shaky, and her hands paw nervously at her chest. “I...I want to get better.” She seems surprised at her own words and bores down at her own hands. There’s no headpiece there anymore, it’s fallen to the ground. It silently broke into bits, and from the looks of it-it looks like it’s broken beyond repair. 

“I want to get better,” She says again to no one in particular. George would say she’s convincing herself of such, but something tells him she’s wanted this for a long time. She just never admitted it out loud before. “But I don’t know how. I keep fucking it up.”

“It really isn’t an easy road,” Lance agrees, bumping her playfully in the shoulder. “But that’s what we’re here for. We can help.” 

Catra looks between the two of them, eyes flickering quickly like she’s trying to find a way to look directly at the two of them at the same time. “I...this is hard. Accepting help is hard. Fuck-awful.” That pulls a laugh out of them, and Catra perks up at this. She even lets herself smile softly, although it’s only a second that it appears and a second it’s gone.

“We can work on that. Just remember you’ll need to let go of stuff like that.” Lance says, standing up with a renewed confidence. 

“Let go…?” Something flashed behind Catra’s eyes, and her chest stilled. George nearly thinks they’ve backtracked or crossed one of Catra’s hidden lines, but she calms, and stands up with Lance. “Yeah. I think I can do that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))) That good? I don't know myself. I'm honestly worried about continuing this fic because I think most lost interest after season 4 came out, but yeah. I've emotionally compromised myself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep breathe in. She’s not in the Fright Zone right now, she’s not sitting in the shadow of anyone else. She’s bathing in light of the window with George. George, who is much kinder and much smarter than Shadow Weaver. Who takes the time to listen, even if he has to strain his ears to hear her. Deep breathe out. The migraine dulls, still there but lesser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I satisfied with this chapter right now? Yes. Will I read it later and likely hate it? Yes. Doesn’t matter though, I got it done!!! If you’re the type who can listen to music while you read, I recommend “Green” By Cavetown. At least for this first half with Scorp, cuz. Like. Major inspiration. Enjoy!  
Trigger warnings? Another nightmare and more emotional baggage being explored! Woo

_ Kissing in itself is a sensation hard to explain, but to be overwhelmed with a kiss is even more powerful. It is be enveloped by only one other person, to lose herself in one point of contact and to be safe in it in a way most other touch is  _ ** _not_ ** _ . At least not to Catra, who knows how dangerous it is to want. But maybe for this one instance she could make an exception. Just this once.  _

_ Afterall, her lips are achingly soft. The softest thing Catra has ever ached for, and also the easiest thing to ache after. Everywhere is soft, everywhere is safe, and Catra never wants to open her eyes. Why would she, when things felt so familiar and without backlash? This is where her happy place would be if she ever had to choose one.  _

_ But her girl pulls away, probably for something impractical and meaningless like oxygen, and Catra practically hisses in the back of her throat, trailing after her without opening her eyes. How dare someone deprive her of her badly-needed kisses? It’s an atrocity of the highest degree, of course, and Catra wants to seek her warmth again but moving wastes body heat and her time. She whines pathetically instead and gets a lighthearted chuckle in response, but still Catra doesn’t open her eyes as her head is guided back to rest on her shoulder. She lets it happen, waiting to be put back in a timeless responsibility-free world where the only thing she has to worry about is her breathing.  _

_ “Catra ...,” The voice is off, in a way that stops Catra in her tracks. As if backlogged by her high, current reality pushes her senses into malfunction. She no longer smells the inexplicable mix of standard horde-brand vanilla shampoo and fresh air, or thinks of wheat-blonde lock and how they look when they fall out of a ponytail.  _

_ Out of everything, it takes the memory of gentle blue-grey eyes the longest to fade from Catra’s mind. But when it does, it jolts Catra back to reality. Her eyes shoot open, but they take time to adjust. She can’t process looking up where the incandescent light bulbs of the Frightzone’s ceiling lamps shine bright-too much contrast for her sensitive eyes to take in just yet. Whoever is holding her seems to notice that Catra’s ‘waking up’ but Catra hangs her head before they get a chance to make eye-contact.  _

_ Where Catra looks down to where she had been imagining hands are instead dull red claws that lightly prod the fur lining Catra’s arms. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not even uncomfortable, but it’s jarring, and Catra’s backing up quick and panicked.  _

_ “Geez, you’re being pretty wild, wildcat.” Scorpia, however, is smiling ear to ear with the dopiest look in her eyes. Catra strains herself to focus on her-but it’s hard to really keep things clear-cut when Catra’s brain is screaming at her to be anywhere else. Truly, she wants to follow her own advice, but she’s being held by Scorpia-and her brain has enough sense to associate Scorpia with security, even in her haze. _

_ Scorpia’s hair is a bit mussy and her usual black lipstick has been smeared in some areas but she looks otherwise normal. Seemingly, sadly, unaware of the cognitive dissonance nestling itself into Catra’s brain like a splint. _

_ Catra freezes. Because of their close proximity Scorpia is attuned to the feeling, and recognition sparks behind her eyes. Worry seeps in.  _

_ “Hey, are you okay?”  _

_ Catra blinks back her nerves and tiredness. Scorpia exhales and inhales with her, and it gives Catra the moment she needs to recollect herself.  _

_ She grounds herself in the moment with reminders. Like the fact was only mere days before the portal was complete. The fact Catra had been restless in her own bunk, and Scorpia sat with her after the last of the day’s meetings. They had talked about the days events. Boring stuff, like cadet performance and what type of sludge they might serve in the cafeteria tomorrow. At some point Scorpia had gotten close enough to pet at Catra’s hair.  _

_ Catra, touch-starved as she was, had a hard time resisting the feeling. Even harder to keep herself from purring, and Catra got drunk off the feeling. Enough to forget herself, even-and then one thing led to another and Scorpia and her had kissed.  _

_ “Get out.”  _

_ “What-”  _

_ “Scorpia.” She lowers her voice as much as she can without being harsh, because as much as Catra tries to remain ignorant to Scorpia’s advances, she knows fully well the extent of the other girl’s feelings for her. Ones that, for hopefully obvious reasons, Catra is unable to return. But Scorpia is still Catra’s friend. This situation is fragile, and needs to be handled with care. Catra can’t lose her. “I don’t want to do this right now.”  _

_ “But, well. Y’know” Scorpia is blushing now but she still has a playful and cheery look in her eye. “I figured you wouldn’t mind my company. We don’t have to kiss anymore if you don’t want to, but we can play board games or something.”  _

_ “No. I don’t need to do that.”  _

_ “But do you want to?”  _

_ “Is there a difference?” Catra scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Scorpia faltered for just a fraction of a second, but immediately went back to smiling. Catra ignored the sting that ignited in her chest. If her high from the kiss hadn’t been washed out already it absolutely would have by now.  _

_ “Of course you can. You’re allowed to unwind, you know.” Scorpia nervously flexes her claws open and closed multiple times. She’s able to look right at Catra, or more accurately right through her.  _

_ “Yeah, and I can do that alone.”  _

_ “Are you sure that’s good for you? I mean the next time we-,” Scorpia started, raising a claw. But she didn’t get the chance to finish, because Catra nearly jumped off of her cot, which drew her attention away from whatever she had been thinking of saying. _

_ “Next time? Next time, what? Fuck are you implying, Scorpia?” She steeled her feet into the cold metal floor. Her ears flicked, tail flashing between her legs. “There won’t ever be any next time.”  _

_ “I didn’t mean it like that,” Scorpia insisted. Her brows furrowed together but she still kept on her nervous, insistent smile. Her claws made their way down to her thighs were she patted down her pants awkwardly. She bites her lip and pulls her glance away from Catra. “I just-I feel like we should address some things?” _

_ “Oh? Like what?” Catra pretends to inspect her nails.  _

_ “With everything that happened in the crimson waste-.”  _

_ “Don’t.” _

_ “But. Come on, why did we leave?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. We have the sword. And Adora, and that’s a big win for the Horde. But the Horde’s not everything.”  _

_ “You sound ridiculous. Treasonous, even. Seriously-,” Catra glances around the room, looking for signs of Imp in the rafters. Thankfully there wasn’t; if Hordak found out about this Scorpia wouldn’t stand a chance. “Keep your voice down.”  _

_ “What about the fun we had out there?” She sounds like Adora, in the worst way possible. Naive and optimistic and ready to leave Catra behind for a single whiff of something new. But of course Catra was the only one who could see it. Scorpia would claim that she’d want Catra with her, that they could go off together. But the second Catra went out of Horde bounds Scorpia wouldn’t want to be with her the way she wanted now. Not when the allure of a better life was clearly the wiser option.  _

_ “None of that matters, Scorp. None of it.” Catra warns, yet still Scorpia stands. Her shadow creeps over the smaller of the two, but Scorpia keeps herself at arms length. Still Catra flinches. _

_ “But we could’ve been something good out there. Something more. You must have seen that, right?” _ _   
_ _ “We don’t get to be anything else, Scorpia.” Catra points an accusatory finger straight into her chest, putting extra emphasis on ‘get’. She nearly spits it out, and has to pant for a moment to catch her breathe. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the only reason we were there was because I was left for dead. I’m beginning to think that the only reason you followed me was so you could lap that up.” It’s a weak lie, even in Catra’s own ears.  _

_ “Wildcat-,” Scorpia mumbles, not moving an inch.  _

_ “No, let me talk. I want to know. Is that why? So you could laugh at me? Or maybe you were trying to manipulate me. Get me to break down so you could be my savior. Because I’m so incapable of being anything to anyone, right?”  _

_ “I just want whatever’s good for you, wildcat,” Scorpia’s body tenses, the muscles in her neck flex involuntarily. Catra follows the sight to her jaw and then Scorpia’s eyes. They both fell to the ground when they made eye contact  _

_ “That isn’t going to make me fall in love with you.” Catra didn’t mean to say it, or maybe she had but hadn’t realized how much the words seared into the roof of her mouth. Or the awful taste it left on her tongue. _

_ Scorpia’s eyes bore down into the floor. She wasn’t really reacting. Catra flinches again when nothing happens but Scorpia taking another breathe in. Her chest heaves and her shoulders shake, and it takes a second for Catra to realize why droplets of water pool at Scorpia’s feet.  _

_ “I know.”  _

_ Catra hasn’t taken any more steps away from her, but now it feels like they’re miles away from each other. The sting washes over Catra’s entire body and the burn in her mouth doesn’t go away. She wants it to though. More than anything, more than she ached after anyone else. _

_ Catra retracts, and bends next to Scorpia.  _

_ “I'm ...,” She inhales. The exhale never comes. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it.” She rests her head next to Scorpia’s. She doesn’t attempt to hug her, worried that it might overwhelm her. _

_ “It’s okay.” Scorpia buries her face into the crook of Catra’s shoulder, muzzling herself. Despite her words, her voice cracks and she still stains Catra’s fur and shirt in tears. “You don’t have to lie.”  _

Catra turns but it doesn’t do anything to fold away the memory. It’s only replaced with a mirage of others, all playing out in far too much detail.

_ Entrapta, freezing when Catra screamed in her face for not paying attention. Immediate guilt pooling in her gut for being just like Shadow Weaver, selfishly having a breakdown for her outburst and Entrapta trying to comfort her.  _

_ Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio trying to welcome her back from the Crimson Waste but turning away when Catra merely glared pointedly in their direction.  _

_ Scorpia staring wide-eyed at Entrapta knocked out cold on the ground, taser in Catra’s hand still flickering electricity as a warning. _

When Catra buries her head into her own shoulder, she grunts. Something behind her closed eyes moves and her ears twitch in response, but it isn’t enough to pull her from the border of sleep and daydream. 

_ Shadow Weaver clutching Glimmer’s hand like she’d rip it off in the middle of the Fright Zone. The misplaced pity Glimmer watched her with when Catra was frozen in midair.  _

_ The twisted feeling in her stomach she felt when she lied to Hordak’s face about Entrapta. The simultaneous breath of relief when he believed her and the crushing twinge under her skin when she realized he was near the point of tears.  _

_ Adora’s face when Catra pulled the lever contrasting with Adora’s face when Catra let go. _

_ The feeling of rotting away into nothing but corruption and air. Becoming a shadow until the world reset itself, then waking up from it all to realize Adora was looking at her with the realization of what a monster Catra was.  _

‘No more,’ she begged her brain. Those memories that were unbearable all on their own played over and over, as if Catra was glued to a seat in her head’s darkest theater. 

She should have had Shadow Weaver erase them all instead of Adora’s handful. Probably would have thanked her afterwards, even look up to her with the same naive devotion and love she had felt fer Shadow Weaver as a dumb kid.    
_ Everyone crowds around her, frozen in place like statues. They are no place in specific, but they circle in a long lines of faces. Adora, Scorpia, Entrapta. The rebellion, the other horde cadets, Weaver and Hordak. And much more. So much more.  _

_ Even people she doesn’t know. Kids who had attended Princess Prom, panicking and crying out when the kingdom’s ceilings came down. Villagers and townspeople from raids. Animals that Horde Bots and tanks had run out of the woods, out of their homes.  _

_ All linked together by one common thread. Catra had hurt them. Some more than others, but hurt in any way was hurt enough.  _

_ _ Catra knows this one is decidedly not a memory. At least not a true one. It’s a memory of a dream. More accurately a nightmare. One that’s reoccurred so often Catra should not have been surprised it pried its way back into her head space. If it were a movie she was attending, she could’ve recited every scene-every twist. 

_ But where Bow stands, now George and Lance are on either side of him.  _ That’s new.  _ Catra reaches out to them but she’s stopped by something. A crackling red lightning, a dark magic with no source. That is until Shadow Weaver surges into life, the only statue to move out of her place. But even then her actions are robotic and limited. _

_ At best she can place a hand on Catra’s cheek, the other tapping at her exposed scar. When had Catra lost her headpiece?  _

_ “Pathetic child. I cared for you, once. ” Catra can hear the smile in her voice. She wants to scream at her to back off, to push her away-but she cannot. She’s still held in place by her magic. She can’t even bring herself to mouth a simple lie. ‘I hate you.’  _

_ “I always knew you would end up like me. Though I am not that ignorant. Tell me…,” Shadow Weaver pulls back; then all of them fall into line to scream straight into Catra’s skull. _

_ “Why did you do it?”  _

_ The portal swallows them all whole.  _

It jolts Catra awake, to have died and come back into the living world. Enough to fluff up all of her exposed fur and force eyes open. Still she tries to remain lazy and groggy in attempts of going back to napping if only her brain could dial down the torture. 

Sound punctures her fog though, like the gentle flip of a page and the tapping of a finger against a counter top. The longer her ears adjust to picking up on each noise, the harder they are to ignore. So, with a defeated sigh, Catra begins the process of waking up. 

She rolls over to her side only to realize the cat, Monkey, has curled into her side. He protests to her sitting up with a mrow and discontinued purring, but to tide him over she pets at him and lets him crawl into her lap. He makes no protest then.

It takes her another longer moment to shake the exhaustion in her eyes and longer for the fatigue to melt out the rest of her body. Sunlight pours down on her while she stretches, feeling the satisfying crack of each movement deep in her bones. 

Catra doesn’t have the energy to be panicked at her somewhat foreign surroundings, not when it’s all so much softer than any bunk she could have scored in the Fright Zone. Here Catra sits at a wide windowsill nestled between bookshelves and when she extends her gaze outward she’s greeted with the familiar sight of a study. George and Lance’s, obviously.

The latter is nowhere to be seen in the room but Catra suspects he probably drifted in and out while she was napping because she picked up on his scent floating heavy in the air and there was a cup of tea at his desk that was still steaming. George, however, is still where Catra had last seen him. He’s deep in the book he had picked up for the very first time that same morning. It looks like he’s gotten a pretty decent amount through it too, it’s opened neatly down the middle because he looks like he’s halfway through it. Was he just a fast reader or was Catra’s catnap that long? 

George wears a pair of thin-rimmed glasses and a very studious expression. It kind of makes him look ridiculous, but he’s happily invested in whatever he’s reading and seemingly unaware of Catra’s recent consciousness. It’s probably a good thing too, she knows when she wakes up from nightmares she looks noticeably panicked. That’s why Adora always knew when to chew her out for not talking it out with her.

Here in the study George almost looked ancient. If she squinted, she could picture him as a man made out of stone, slowly going through old tomes in long-dead languages. Add layers of dust onto him and the books and he’s look like the other plenty of first ones artifacts him and Lance had lying around. Most of all, he looks content. There’s a barely-there grin on his face and every few moments he’d hum out something when he came across a particularly interesting section. Beside his book was a little notebook he’d occasionally jot down for that type of occasion, and the scrawl had a pleasing little rhythm to it.

Catra lets him read without interruption, just as she had when she initially entered the room. He looked so at home that she wouldn’t want to barge in, but she knew she was still welcome to speak up if she felt so inclined. 

The few days after their ‘confrontation’ Catra struggled to be on her own, and being able to sit in a comfortable silence without pressure to talk or make conversation gave her a chance to calm herself. It was odd. Catra was in a way new to relaxing, as much as she had been chewed out as a cadet for being too careless and slack. Her shoulders had never felt so not tense. 

Likely she was able to do so because of her spot. She did have a history of finding the best hiding and napping places, this little sweet ledge included. Shame it was ruined by nightmares.

Because really, it was awfully nice. The windowsill remained warm and nice from taking in direct sunlight, but the sun wasn’t too bright because the trees surrounding the house give just enough shade to cover her eyes. It’s probably why Catra was able to fall asleep on it in the first place, as well as why Monkey followed suit. 

It makes her feel sleepy just thinking about it. Despite the lull of the room, Catra lets herself break the illusion with a yawn. George finally snaps out of his book-induced haze when he noticeably picks up on it. He twitches his nose and turns to her with an all too gentle-look as he brushed his glasses to the top of his head. 

“Oh hello. Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” 

“Mmm,” She growls at him and looks down at the cat, who went back to sleep quickly after Catra woke. Even in his sleep Monkey uses his back paws to scratch behind his ears and like clockwork Catra feels her own begin to itch. She resists the urge to ruffle her own hair and ears, she wouldn’t want to shed all over George’s work-space.

“You doing okay, kid? You were squirming a lot in your sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleeping.” At least, not at first. 

“Really? Your eyes were closed, so I assumed...” 

“I was trying to. But it only felt like I was staring into empty space. I guess it could’ve been sleep.” Catra picks at her nails in a way that would seem sheepish on anyone else.George quirks an eyebrow at her she doesn’t react, just stares ahead. Her eyes flickered over his face softly while she paused her train of thought. “But I was not...really me. Like the real me was somewhere else while I drifted between thoughts. Or like I recorded myself and was playing it back. That sounds stupid doesn’t it? It sounds stupid to me.” 

“Oh, not at all.” George looked down to his book in thought and tapped his chin. “Actually, that sounds like dissociation,” 

“I don’t know what that is.” 

“Well, it’s what you described, although people experience it differently from one another.” George gestures to himself. “As an example,  _ I _ was discharged from one of the rebellion troops stationed in the North. After I went home I had felt the worst I’d felt in a long time. All that fighting only to return home ...it was, well, I couldn’t adjust. Felt like I was watching myself from third person, doing things I only recalled in passing.”

“Did you ever?” 

“Ever what?” 

“Adjust.” 

“Oh. Of course, Catra.” George smiles to himself. “I actually...met Lance when I was finally getting the hang of that. Suppose I can say the universe rewarded me.” 

Catra tries not to perk up at that, but she knows that it doesn’t work because she can hear her tail thumping at her side. “You weren’t too much for him to handle?”

“Are you kidding me? He was too much for me to handle.” They both laugh. George giggles even more at his own joke than Catra does, but still she rolls her eyes affectionately. George beams at the sight. 

“But no, that was never really an issue for us. I mean, it was hard for him to understand. At first.” He takes a moment to shut the cover of his book and give Catra his full attention. “But Lance is an incredibly healthy person. He likes to talk things out, and that gave me a lot of strength.” 

“That makes a lot of sense.” Catra huffs, knocking her head back on the window. Outside she catches a glimpse of the calm forest. Trees that flow up into a sky of leaves and nature that never ends. As someone who grew up in an industrial wasteland and miles and miles of desert, she hesitates to call it beautiful-it’s just not something she’s used to seeing in that light. But she’s not that dense, outside is a beautiful scene.

These woods flutter with light and warmth. Maybe if she hadn’t been so hellbent on destroying the world she could’ve seen that same warmth anywhere else. It was there with Scorpia, and Adora’s offer to come with her. But she had come so close to destroying these woods.

All because of a stupid inferiority complex. All because she thought a portal would fix things. Fix her suicidal tendencies, her hurt that she’d conflated for hate, her being abandoned so many times by the only people she thought could love her. A portal that she knew could destroy everything. Maybe that’s why it had been so appealing to Catra. Destructive, like her.

Catra looks down to see Monkey’s reflection in the window. He’s sleeping so well he’s drooling. She snorts at the sight’s juxtaposition to her ever-dark internal monologue. 

She really needs to stop letting her thoughts spiral if she’s planning on getting better. But, stars, where to start?

“I...don’t get how he...Or. How you  _ all _ \- are just able to talk it out.” 

“I’m really not,” George stands up. When he stretches Catra can hear his bones creak and the small wince he tries to hide with a cough. “It’s just adulting stuff, I think. Most things are worse off when you left them unsaid.” 

He takes the few strides from his desk over to the windowsill, and bends down to pet Monkey. He must see the disbelief still on Catra’s face from the corner of his eye, because he continues on as he sits down next to her and the cat. 

“If it helps, the more I’ve shared, the less I feel I need to keep in. It’s just about practice.” Despite his advice, it doesn’t help. Catra doesn’t know how to practice things that aren’t agility exercises and yelling at horde cadets under her command. Add faking a smile to that list and it was complete. 

“Urgh, I don’t know. That seems like…” Catra cuts herself off with a groan. George nods at her like her unintelligible noises were actually grunts of genius-he even strokes his mustache in thought. 

“Seems like a lot of work?” 

“I guess.” He had nailed it. Catra huffs. 

“It is.” George sighs. He mirrors something Catra had done earlier, by leaning back on the window and turning to the forest. He looks out at it before shutting his and yawning. “But, like me and Lance have both said-.”

“I have a place here,” Catra finished for him.

“Yes. So if you ever need to ‘practice’ on me you can.” George smiles and flushes a little bit, the skin around his eyes crinkling softly. “That was kind of cheesy, wasn’t it?”    
Catra grins into the palm of her hand. “Only a little bit.” 

A moment passes in the blink of an eye, softly and sweetly. 

“Can...Can I do that?” 

“Talk to me?” George prompts, cocking his head to the side. “I think you already know the answer to that.” 

“Still. I don’t want to just ramble at you with no warning. Like. That seems shitty.” 

“I get where you’re coming from, but you really don’t have to worry about that with me. You seem to know the appropriate time to unload. When you allow yourself to, at least.” George cracks a soft grin and Catra huffs. “Well?”

She gulps. Shadow Weaver only allowed Catra to rant at her on occasion, and so many times after Catra would regret opening her mouth. The witch always found a way to bring up her moments of weakness in an argument, just to undermine Catra. When she went away, Hordak caught on to using that tactic as well. Fucking cherry on top of one giant asshole. The worst thing is that she use to scold herself for never properly learning her lesson. She almost wants to now.

It was more than infuriating. More than even suffocating. Because Catra had learned early on to keep in the things that actually mattered. Everything else could be filtered or turned into omissions and white lies. That way no one had a chance to even decipher what she said. Not even Adora. 

Hmph. No wonder it took the dumb blonde so long to understand what was going on in the Horde. Catra had never indicated a cause for alarm in the first place. 

“I-,” Her fur stands on edge. What had she wanted to say? It was something important, something she knew she needed to address before anything else. Something of worth, but she can’t remember anymore. Her head only wants to zone in on the danger of the situation. On the harm her talking could bring her, as it always had before. Because she remembers Shadow Weaver, and Hordak, and being caught in a cycle of hating herself for speaking. 

Like clockwork, Catra feels the familiar workings of the migraine begin to set in. Right underneath her skin. It works in tandem with her nerves. Seeping into her blood as syrup coats her throat, it forces down what she wants to say. As if the pain will stop her from forming sentences. It works. 

“Whoa, hey-,” George lunges forward, hands hovering on both of Catra’s sides. He looks ready to catch her if she passes out. She won’t, of course. She’s stronger than whatever ache is trying to terrorize her. Catra swallows her offense and defensive nature, trying to lock that in her throat instead. George watches on warily.

“Are you okay? Do we need to grab you some more medicine?” 

“No. I’m fine.” Thankfully, George backs away from her so Catra can breathe easier. “I-I just…,”

Deep breathe in. She’s not in the Fright Zone right now, she’s not sitting in the shadow of anyone else. She’s bathing in light of the window with George. George, who is much kinder and much smarter than Shadow Weaver. Who takes the time to listen, even if he has to strain his ears to hear her. Deep breathe out. The migraine dulls, still there but lesser. 

“This is a lot of work.” 

George sighs, nodding with a subtle frown. “Yeah. I get it kid. Just...remember this is practice. Your first time, too. So you don’t need to force it out.” 

Was it really Catra’s first time doing something as basic as talking things out? That couldn’t be right, she assures herself, as she sifts through her memories. It’s a fruitless endeavor-the closest she ever got was going off with Scorpia, and that crashed and burned.

Stars, how emotionally stunted was she? Not even stunted, just...immature. This wasn’t helping. Catra forces a deeper, heavier breathe. It doesn’t help as much as the first time, but the gesture itself is comforting. 

“I feel awful for everything. For the Horde and the Fright Zone.” It’s hard to talk for so long, so she fakes a cough to break her thoughts into halves. “I don’t think I deserve to be forgiven-I’ve been a bad person more than I’ve ever been good.” 

When Catra looks up George just blinks, lips pulled into a thin line. “Well. Stars, okay. Hold on. I want to be precise in how I say this, Catra. Please don’t take offense, I don’t know how this is going to sound.”

“I won’t,” She growls, but that sounds offended to her and she makes herself backtrack. “Um. I’ll try not to.” 

“Alright. Thank you,” George relaxes a little bit, and he stops making that awkward line expression. “People can’t just be put under one good or one bad label-,” 

“Psh, yeah right-,” Catra means Shadow Weaver, but also a large part of herself. 

“No, no, listen.” George holds up a finger, and takes a second to form his sentence. He struggles through a couple of nonsensical stutters and a frustrated sigh before settling on what he wants to say. “People are multifaceted, everyone’s made up of the things they’ve been through and that forms us and our personalities. Also makes us have whatever random selection of traits we have internalized, good and bad. Soooo you can’t boil it down to one or the other. And it doesn’t even matter if you’re one or the other.” 

Catra scrunches her nose, and crosses her arms. “Why not?” 

“As long as you’re trying to be better than what you were yesterday, you’re on the right path.”   
“And I’m doing that?” 

“Exactly! I see good in you that you’re blind to because you’ve buried it. It’ll just take some time for you to dig it back up again.”

“How do I know i’m just not making excuses for myself though? Isn’t it easy for me to just...pretend I’m trying to be better when I’m really making everything worse? I’ve...done that a lot before.” It’s why she had risen through the ranks in the Horde, at least. The false idea was that power was going to change her for the better. That maybe everyone would come back once they saw how much Catra was doing for herself. Even if it wasn’t good, it would have been enough. That didn’t turn out though, obviously. 

“What was your definition of better?” 

“I...I don’t know. I was just really fucked up. Still am.”

“Catra, I don’t think you’re thinking about this in the right way. Why would you keep asking yourself how to become better if you didn’t mean it?” 

“I was a _horde_ _soldier_.” She reminds him gruffly, flexing the muscles in her hands. It’s not an actual answer though, and they both know that. 

“Was or wasn’t or even when doesn’t matter. Now and the future do. But it helps to process what was, that’s why we’re talking. ” 

Future? Did Catra even have one? Outside of being here with them she didn’t have anywhere to go, unless she wanted to turn herself in to the rebellion or lay down and die in a wasteland away from everyone else. It would solve her guilt, maybe. But there’s the horror of facing Adora again, and there’s death. Which she begrudgingly can say won’t make her better. And really, she does want to be better. More than anything. If not for herself, and it is, then for Scorpia and for Entrapta and to spite Hordak and Shadow Weaver. 

So maybe she  _ did _ understand, at least some aspect of the conversation. Because like George said, she’s not a Horde Captain anymore. She’s not associated with them at all, except in her head. Why not cut those ties? And form better ones with the people she knows want to see her better. For Scorpia, for Entrapta, for Adora, for her.

For ...Bow. Bow, who had been incredibly kind and talkative to her even when she was literally his captive. Really just for all of the people she’d hurt before, just so they knew she was making sure she’d never do that again. Wishful thinking, maybe.

“I ...I'll keep that in mind.” She cleared her throat, leaning back and stretching. “Is this too exhausting for you?”

“Not at all, kiddo.” George held his hand out to her shoulder, and when Catra didn’t move away, he took the signal and patted her. Something about how he did it was almost like a language of its own. Made solely for reassurance and warmth. “Even when you backtrack I can be there to help you sort it out. Human brains are messy.” 

“Uh, not a human.” Catra points out, intentionally leaning in to the lilt in her voice. 

“Okay fine, magicat brains. Magicat brains are messy.” George snorts, shaking his head in a faux-annoyed manner. 

“Ah, good job. You did it!” 

“Also full of fur. Probably.” George joked, laughing harder when Catra elbowed his side. 

“Rude.” She huffed. One of her curls that fell down in her face flew up when she did, falling back to her forehead in one swift motion. George playfully rolled his eyes, ‘tsk’-ing while he did so. 

Catra doesn’t bother hiding her smile this time. It falls quickly though, when she realizes she’d still been dancing around what she should have been saying this entire time.

“...Aren’t you curious?”

“I mean, yes? You framed it ominously so I don’t really know about what but...I am?” George shrugs his shoulders and half-assed a lopsided smirk. 

“About my life in the Horde, I mean. Who I was.” 

“Catra, it doesn’t define y-,”

“I know. But shouldn’t you know? Like, I fought Bow all the time.”

“What?” George perks up. Obviously he doesn’t mean to, or at least he doesn’t mean for Catra to see it, because George stiffens when Catra’s eyes follow his movements. But she knows why.

Bow is his son. He already knows Catra knows him somehow, if he put two and two together when just the mention of Bow set Catra into an episode then he knows more. The horrible things she’s teased at with her own actions as a mindless Horde soldier, horde captain, horde cadet, whatever...why wouldn’t George care? He’s a good dad. He has to care about his son. But sitting here next to her bathing in sunlight...he looks lost. 

“He really never told you about me?”    
“Well.” George gulped visually and scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “We...um. Bow, he kept his rebellion life a secret from us.”

“Why? He seems like he’d be as open as you and Lance and his brothers are.”

“Normally, he is. Looking at it now I think it’s because he knew I didn’t want anyone else to end up like Jean. Especially not my youngest boy.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Learning things about that side of his life has come slow. It shocked me bad, since he’d always been really upfront when he found things out about himself before. Like his gender and his sexuality and even small things like his crushes. I didn’t even know how much distance the war was putting between us.” 

“How long ago did you find out?”

“Only around a few months ago. When he went off with Glimmer and Adora to the Crimson Waste. He hasn’t had the time to come back, only message us through his gadgets and send us letters. Last time I saw him it wasn’t even real.” 

Catra stiffens. “How do you mean?” 

“It was...that weird mass hallucination. It was the one that happened the day before we found you, actually.” Catra gasps. It’s barely audible but she  _ knows _ it catches George’s attention because even Monkey, from where he sat still moderately napping in the windowsill, raises his head and scans the room for something out of the ordinary. 

“About that-,” Her head twists into itself. Again that feeling of suffocation floods her mouth, but Catra refuses to let it overwhelm her. She’d wanted to come forward about it so much earlier, but she’d held herself back. That wasn’t going to happen again. “That ...that's no coincidence. That was me, and that wasn’t a hallucination.” 

“Oh? I’d assumed it wasn’t necessarily a hallucination but...what do you mean? That seems like something not even She-Ra could do.” 

“Not if the Horde got its hands on first ones’ tech that could create reality-splitting portals.” 

“Portals?” George’s breath hitched softly in his throat, and Catra’s heart pounded with ache. It’s not that he looked disappointed, or even angry. Just that same look Lance had given her, back when she had thrown him up against the wall. A light wave of sadness without a source. 

“I’m sorry. It must have been a nightmare for you all.” Catra winces. “I know it was for me. I think that’s why I keep feeling all of these stupid pains. But...that’s selfish. I know it hurt more than just me. It hurt  _ everyone _ .” Fuck, she’s shaking again. When had that, and the awful wetness in her eyes, start up again. She wipes at them violently, but the feeling doesn’t reside. The guilt of the portal, just as it had in her dream, burned through her skull. 

George places his hand on her again, but this time he keeps it there as he opens himself up for a hug. Catra doesn’t accept, just lays her head on where his hand is. “It-It’s not just that. I...Bow. What an example.” She laughs, a long, dry, and cruel cackle. “I captured him from the princess prom. I watched Shadow Weaver torture his best friend and the person who used to be my best friend, and I couldn’t do anything to stop her. I tried to kill him. How can I be here, with your family, when I’ve done that? Doesn’t that make me some sort of monster?” 

“No, Catra, no.” George is breathing deeply in and out. He looks like he’s on the verge of his own spiral. Because of Catra. She’s hurting his family now too. And it’s because she wants to be honest. Wants to be better. “I forgive you. I do, really.” 

“It’s not your apology to give.” 

“I know. But, someone has to. Not if you won’t forgive yourself.” 

She opens her mouth to interject, but nothing comes out. This time she knows he’s right, and it’s reduced her to frantic sniffling and tearing up. She brushes his hand off only to slam herself into his arms for a hug. 

“It’s okay kiddo.”

She really wants to believe him. So, she does. It makes practicing much easier.

….

An hour later, Lance makes his way down to the study after dropping off lunch in Baker, Axel, and Gil’s rooms. But he still has two plates left to drop off, so he heads in the familiar direction that will lead him to the study. 

When he opens the door, he’d expected to see Catra sitting by the window and George still invested in his work. But that is very much not the case.

Inside, both of them sit on the windowsill. Back-lit by the sun shining into the room, neither of them pick up on Lance entering the room. When he walks closer, he knows why.

Each are asleep, leaning on each other like last-minute pillows. George is drooling just a little bit, the slim trail of saliva threatening to drip from his chin but never quite getting there. Catra’s just as silly looking next to him. She’s a ball of fluff and mess, her hair getting in her face and in her own open snoring mouth but...she looks calm in this nap. Calmer sleep than she’d ever had so far in this house, and he knows because there’s no frown in her features and her eye-bags are fading. He hopes that means no kicking nightmares-as he’d realized early on.

But there look to be tear streams on both of their faces, although they’ve faded too. If Lance had to guess, he could figure out the type of emotional bonding that went on before he came in. It makes sense, considering the way they sit now.

Lance smiles, setting the tray down on his own desk and walks out. They can find it and eat it later. Now they just need their rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance always walks in on wholesome bonding moments with Catra and his family, but in the one instance when it’s the other way around Gil caught Catra literally threatening him. I don’t know,,,, that’s just funny to me.  
Also the way I write Catra and George’s dynamic is just. Like Kombucha girl if her expressions were an entire shared breakdown until George is just like “fuck it you’re my daughter.” I can’t not write melodrama and the like forgive me america lol. But, yeah. I hope this was a fun read. It took me forever to finish this chapter because of finals but uh I hung in there so here ya. Expect a shitshow next time but like. A good one. with a sweet boy. Peace out, happy holidays.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was much longer but i decided it’d be better if i cut this up into two parts, so that’s what i’m doing. I know it's shorter than usual bc of that, so I'm sorry! Hopefully it's still an enjoyable read.

Bed: made. Breakfast: digested. Hair: a little less than combed but still overall stylish. Shoes (and socks lovingly made by Castespella): pulled on. And above all, shirt: cropped. 

But, he isn’t ready for the day yet. Making his way over to the mirror, Bow gives himself the first smile of the day. The face he flashes looks more tired and drained than he would like, but it will have to do. He’s already on a tight schedule this morning so he doesn’t have the time to give a few better, brighter grins. Besides, it’s nothing out of the normal out of the late. It’s just a struggle to smile around the castle nowadays. 

Hopefully his dads won’t take notice. They’re kind of dense in some places, but they always worry over small things like that. 

First routine of the day now out of the way, Bow rounds out from his room. In the hall he passes the guards on duty. They all walk stiff and awkwardly around him, but they do give him a nod when Bow offers each and every one of them a wave. 

One even opens the door for him when he reaches his pit-stop.

“Thank you!” Bow chirps, coughing a little after to hide the cracking of his voice. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him(the guard does),instead he goes straight to the windows. When he pulls open the fluffy colored curtains he’s immediately greeted by the sight of the moon crystal outside. Inside though he’s met with a soundboard full of a variety of groans and protests. But when he looks up, there’s no one leering over the edge of Glimmer’s bed and telling him to get out. He shrugs, then taking a moment to pick up and fold the clothes still thrown around the room carelessly.

Her room was messier than it usually was-a product of stress. Glimmer was always less organized when things were weighing down on her mind. Today most of her drawers weren’t closed(some were flat out thrown upside down on the ground), she had old dinner plates and bowls in peculiar places, and absolutely nothing was organized. 

If it wasn’t something Glimmer got a little insecure about, he’d tease her about walking into a jungle. He doesn’t want to make her feel guilty about a symptom she struggles to control and maintain, since he can relate. But like, from the other side of the spectrum. 

Bow knew himself as the opposite-he’d clean like crazy to get his brain off of things, if just for a few moments. Whether this instance is a case of that is up for interpretation, because admitting when he’s stressed when he’s supposed to be the one who’s always happy feels a lot like a medic who’s gotten injured and can’t treat themselves. He guesses that makes him and Glimmer kind of balanced though, because both of them give each other a mess to make and clean up respectively. 

Bow folds the idea away with the rest of Glimmer’s clothes and stray blankets. 

“Alright rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Bow muses, hopping up the floating steps to her messy nest that she passes off as a ‘bed.’ A pause, and he looks down at the contents of the said bed. A formless blob crumples to one side of the sheets and blankets. Of course, the small bed is overloading with pillows and throw blankets-some are covering Glimmer, some are thrown haphazardly across the sides of the mattress. From within the igloo of blankets rings out a defeated whine that dies out quickly. 

“Or should I say Glitterhead instead?” He waits for another groan, but Glimmer shifts in her sleepy-state. Gently, so as not to startle Glimmer awake, he leans over into her bed and lifts up her comforter. Inside is a cotton candy nightmare of pink and purple, but before he can finish his comment Glimmer rolls over to face him. Opening one eye, she glowers daggers into his skull like she’s already aware of whatever dumb pun he wants to make at her and wants to warn him that today she will have  _ none of it _ . 

He bites down on his cheek to hide his smile, but he thinks he fails because Glimmer’s glare darkens and Bow feels the start of laughter bubbling in his chest.

“Y’know, because your hair is all sparkly.” 

“Ugh. Go away, Bow. It’s too early for this.” Glimmer swats his hand away from her blanket, and she falls back over to her side as she rolls herself into another burrito of comforters and silk. Her bare feet are the only thing to stick out from her huddle of cloth, and he pokes there, knowing full well how ticklish she is. She yelps and scurries away as best as she can in her little cocoon. He snorts at her and it carries into another handful of giggles. 

“You say that every day, Glim.” 

She tosses a pillow over the edge of her bed. It doesn’t even come close to hitting Bow, just falls to the floor with one soft puff. He snorts again at her failed attempt, and she throws another one: this one hits him square in the chest. But, seeing it is a feather-filled throw pillow, it doesn’t throw him off that much. 

“Hey, watch it,” He warns despite himself, catching it between his hands and holding it up like he’s presenting a picture frame. It takes him a moment to flatten it down again and lay it in a proper spot where it matched the other pillows and was positioned for maximum comfort. Just so it was evened out. But it’s a fruitless effort, because as soon as he sets it down Glimmer shifts again and flattens herself there, effectively ruining his efforts by throwing herself in the way. Bow’s nose wrinkles instinctively. 

“I don’t wanna. Just, like” She pouts, jutting her lip out. When Bow looks down at her, he can see there’s still a trail of drool that’s dried to the side of her mouth. With a lazy bob of her head, she looks to Bow and gestures vaguely to nothing in particular. “I don’t wanna in general.” 

“You’re stammering, babe,” He jokes, resting his arm on the edge of the frame so he can settle his head on the palm of his hand. 

Glimmer scoffs and shakes her head, but her cheeks flush red and she yanked a pillow in front of her face to hide her very clear smile. “Shut up.”

“I’m just teasing you. You don’t have to get up yet.” He ruffled her hair, hands growing more gentle when they reached the buzzed side of her head. The frizz there is soft, and it’s a texture Bow can say he confidently adores. Glimmer hums her approval into her blankets, though he isn’t sure if it’s her not having to wake up yet or him petting her head. He’s content all the same, Glimmer could use some moments of peace nowadays. “I just wanted to say bye before I head out.” 

Glimmer bolts up, a pout on her face. Her already ruffled hair falls around her in tufts, bedhead incredibly apparent. She reaches her hand out to Bow’s extended arm, gripping her fingers around his wrist. “M’ sorry I can’t come with. I just…”

“Queen duties.” They both finish. 

“Yeah.” Glimmer huffs, staring down at the space between them. “Ugh, should jus’ sneak out. I could get you there quicker, and then I could steal your dads’ food.”

“Aw, are you really just using my parents for confectioneries?” 

“No big words, too early,” Glimmer warns him but her expression quickly softens. It’s very hard for Glimmer to be intimidating when she still has bedhead and rings around her eyes. “But yeah, I am..”

“I guess that’s fair. Lance makes really good food. And I get to eat it tonight!”

“Don’t rub it in my face.” She huffed, dragging her palm down her face dramatically. She peeked out at him through her fingers, exaggerating her frown again. 

“Aw, Glimmerrrrr. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you some leftovers!” He throws up a thumbs up gesture, pointing it to his own chest like he’s a valiant hero for such a thing. 

“Stars, you are the best.” Glimmer smiles sweetly and leans on to Bow’s shoulder, and Bow lets the gesture warm his heart. He wraps an arm around her side for a semi-hug, and pats her shoulder. Glimmer finishes the hug for him, and when she pulls away Bow tries not to feel sad it couldn’t last a little longer. 

“You’ll call when you get there, right?” She asks, cocking her head to one side.

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t want you to worry,” He reassures her, taking one step down. Bow turns his head, and catches another glimpse of Bright-moon from the window. The sky is starting to come alive, and he knows he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to be late. Glimmer must have followed his line of sight, because when he looks back at her she’s also turning her head back to him.

“I’ll see you later, Bow.” He takes the subtle permission to take his leave, beginning to step down even farther the floating stairs. 

“Yeah-, rest up, okay?” 

“Mh.” Glimmer falls back onto her pillows behind him just as Bow reaches the floor safely. “Oh, wait, hold on.” 

“What’s up?” Bow looks back to the bed, waiting for her to continue her thought. For a moment he assumes she might have forgotten it, because she mumbles and yawns but he waits for her anyways.

“I love you, dude.” He’s thankful she’s not watching him leave, because he’s sure otherwise she would see him light up with an amount of joy that’s out of place for regular best friend talk. It always has that effect on him, though, no matter how many times he hears it. 

“I-I love you too, Glim.” God, his face feels stupidly warm. Glimmer seems content with that and doesn’t respond though. Bow sighs, just because it’s something to do with the flustered energy in his chest. 

By the time he reaches the door, he can already hear her breathing even out. As well as coarse wheezing, rhythmic in its pattern. 

And she bullies  _ him _ for snoring. 

…...

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” He asks between the bagel half hanging out of his mouth as he slings his bow over his shoulder. Bow looks his bag over one more time to make sure he has everything he needs, then checks again. 

“Nah. I don’t want to be a bother or anything.” Adora shrugs, looking past Bow into the empty castle halls. 

“My dads love you!” Bow reassures her. “They don’t think you’re a bother. And if they ever did I’d fight them over it.” 

“Have you  _ ever _ fought either of them?” Adora jokes, offering a weak and lopsided smile. 

“That’s not the point!” He flushes, suddenly feeling very sheepish as he rubs at the back of his neck. “But-I’m being serious. You’re always welcome there. You know that right?” 

“I know-,”

“Not that I want to pressure you into going! Or that you feel you have to, I was just thinking maybe you might need the break. And dad said my home is your and glimmer’s home too so don’t ever feel like they don’t love you-.” 

“Bow.” Adora said, patting down one of his hands that he hadn’t even realized he’d frantically been swaying around to go along with his rant. 

“Oh-sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just can’t today.” She looks in the direction of the throne room, where her gaze shifts into a defeated glare. “I’m needed here, so I can protect everyone. Weather _the_ _queen_ likes it or not. It’s the only reason I’m here in the first place, right?” 

“Uh.” Inhale, exhale. Bow holds it in for later. He can’t help Adora right now, for two reasons. The first obvious one being he needs to go, and the second being he wouldn’t know where to start with her, being caught in the middle and all that. Plus lately he’s had to ask himself if everyone deserves him constantly being the person to help regardless of what it does to his own head. Not that he doesn’t care about Adora’s well-being, but things with her and Glimmer were exhausting. “...Right?”

Adora gives him a skeptical glance, like she’s kind of offended he hasn’t jumped in to reassure her that she’s right about feeling like she’s only a human tool for the rebellion. Again, exhausting. This was one of the reasons he needed to retreat to his family. That, and he’d just been really missing them. He needed his dads. 

“Okay. Welp. I’m going out now.” Bow announces, gripping the handle of the door in front of him. Adora nods, stepping back a little bit to give him the room he needs to pull open the door. 

“Be safe.” She states. “And...get back soon?” 

Bow looks to her, and gives her that smile he practices in the mirror. It seems to reassure her enough, and that’s enough for him. 

“Best friend squad?” He holds his hand out for a fist bump, other hand already pushing the door open. Wordlessly Adora accepts, her knuckles pressing into his and she gives him a tired grin. 

“Best friend squad.” 

With that said, Bow walks outside to get the first fresh breath of air for the day. It’s nice-and he turns back for the very last time, saying “Love you, Adora” but she’s already closed the door behind him. 

This time he doesn’t hear her repeat it back to him. So he turns, and heads out into the neck of the whispering woods to visit the one place he knows he’ll always feel welcome. Home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know that one scene in steven universe from “adventures in light distortion” where steven is going into space on the ruby ship and all of the gems poof, and he just starts crying and begging for his dad? That’s how bow feels right now. continue with your day :)  
heres the link if u dont know: https://youtu.be/Ryp0-Zp2Udk?t=88  
Also,, Debating adding the GlimBow tag. It’s pretty medium-level here but like. I do see them at the very least crushing on each other. I probably will tbh.


	10. Update

I'm sorry to be adding this update-but I need to discontinue this fic. Docs ate up all the work I've stored for over two months and I don't have the energy to write it all again, which is depressing to me since I adored the direction I had it going in and I was so excited to share it all with you. I've loved the experience so far, and I've learned a lot, but the crash on my document really defeated the passion I had for a project I love so much. 

I'm sorry, and I hope you all can understand. Please have a nice day, and if it gives you any closure you can come to your own conclusions about what I was going to write. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want updates message me on my tumblr @hobie-brown or my insta @alien_ven if you want  
also, the title comes from a possessed by paul james song that reminded me of this idea so like. yeet. not required in any way at all, but you should check it out, especially if you're like me and like associating music with your favorite characters. Big catra energy.


End file.
